More Than Just Blood
by weezerz2490
Summary: The Winchester brothers are famous, but not many know about the girl they had come to think of as a kid sister. Family is more than just blood. She had to separate from them for a few years, but now she back in black and ready for action. Let's see how well she handles demons, angels, and the coming apocalypse now, shall we?
1. Long Time Coming

Author's note: I only just discovered how awesome Supernatural is, and I haven't seen all the seasons yet, but I'll do my best to keep everyone from being too OOC. I can't really make any promises though, since my new meds make me fuzzy in the head. Let me know if it's any good.

I don't own Supernatural or any of the characters in it, but I do own my OC.

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_**Chapter1: Long Time Coming**_

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**Early July, 2007  
Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

"Balls!" Bobby cursed, throwing the partially dismantled pistol back on his desk. He let a long sigh of exasperation as he poured himself some more whisky.

He'd been working on the damned thing off and on ever since Dean had used the last bullet on old Yellow Eyes at the demon gate nearly two months ago, and he still couldn't figure out the secret behind the gun's magic properties. At first it had looked like it was just an ordinary pistol, but now he wasn't so sure. There had to be some kind of trick to it, something he was missing…

Bobby was jolted out of his thoughts when one of his phones started ringing. Someone was calling him on his direct hotline.

"Who the hell?" Bobby wondered out loud as he checked the caller ID. No one should have this number except for—His eyes widened in surprise when he saw who it was, and he answered it immediately.

"Hey, Bobby! Guess who~!" A familiar voice sang cheerfully into the phone.

"_Chris?_ Is that really you?" Bobby asked, actually smiling, after receiving such a pleasant surprise for once. "Damn, you sound down right chipper. What, did they readjust your meds again?"

"Nope. I've got even better news—My shrink says it's in remission! It's been about two months now, and she says I officially don't have to pop pills at all anymore, and I only have to see her once or twice a year now!" Chris explained excitedly.

"Well, shit, that's fantastic!" Bobby laughed, but then something unsettling occurred to him. "Wait a minute, did you say two months?"

"Yeah, why? No, wait—don't tell me—some supernatural shit hit the fan, didn't it?" Chris asked, sighing. He could practically hear her rolling her eyes. Well, he can't say he blamed her. For every good piece of news they got, there was usually at least twice as much bad news. That's just how it was for their little dysfunctional family of four.

"Lucky guess. I take it Dean and Sam didn't call to tell you about how they finally killed that damned yellow-eyed demon, then?" He asked, shaking his head. He didn't know what Dean's problem was. I mean, how hard was it to pick up a damn phone and call? Sam was probably preoccupied with trying to find a way to save his brother's sorry soul-trading ass, but still.

"Shut the front door! It's about time that bastard got what was coming to him! I take it the Colt worked, then? You mentioned you were looking for it the last time we talked, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but without the bullets, it's about as useful as an ashtray during a hurricane. I'm trying to see if I can re-engineer it so it can take more bullets, but now I've just got a big, stinkin' pile of—"

"Whoa, watch your blood pressure there, Bobby! That's the other thing I called about. I wanted to ask if I could come up and visit you for a while, and you know, maybe set off some homemade fireworks for the fourth—"

"—_No way_. The last thing I need is for your 'fireworks' to get the local sheriff on my ass for setting off weaponized explosives. Are you sure they really cured your crazy?"

"Hey, I never said anything about the crazy being gone, just the depression. Anyway, I was planning on keeping this a surprise, but the real reason I wanted to come visit— other than to blow up your yard and celebrate my somewhat questionable return to sanity—was because I happened to do an exorcism for my neighbor, who's an avid collector of antique guns—"

"Wait, what're _you _doin' performing an exorcism? Why didn't you just call Sam and Dean?"

"Because, for some reason, Dean stopped answering my calls years ago, and I still don't know Sam's new number yet. Anyway, it's not like it's a big deal. I've had to do harder things before, back when I was still hunting as a member of 'Team Winchester'. Besides, the important thing here isn't the exorcism, it's what he gave me as thanks for saving him—The actual, bonafide, true-blue _blue prints_ to_ The Colt!"_

"… You've got to be shittin' me." Bobby said, dumbstruck. Was she seriously telling him that the answer to all their problems had been tucked away, safe and sound, next door to her the whole frickin' time. _Balls!_

"I'm serious Bobby! I don't want to risk it get lost in the mail, so I thought I should deliver it to you personally... If that's all right?"

"Hell, of course it's alright! We should be throwin' you a damned parade! Maybe now we can do something about those _things_ that got out of the gate, not to mention Dean's…" Bobby slowed his roll when he realized he had probably revealed way more than he should have, since he and John had been trying to keep her out of hunting after she had to quit when her… 'condition' reared its ugly head.

"_Bobby_… what _aren'_t you telling me?" Chris asked, suspiciously, entering her interrogation mode. Bobby gulped nervously.

"Uh… You're breaking up—gotta go!" Bobby said quickly, crumpling a piece of paper next to the mouthpiece as he abruptly ended the call. _"Balls..."_ Bobby sighed, running a hand through his greying hair, as he slumped back in his chair. He knew there was no way he was going to get out of explaining that whole fiasco with the Devil's Gate and Dean's dumbass deal with the crossroads demon now.

Christine Lamb, the Winchester brothers' unofficially adopted little sister... was going to be _pissed._


	2. Family Reunion

I don't own Supernatural or any of the characters in it, but I do own my OC.

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_**Chapter2: A Dysfunctional Family Reunion**_

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**Two Days Later...**

"Hey, did Bobby say why it was so urgent for us to rush over here?" Sam asked as he and Dean climbed out of the Impala and started making their way towards Bobby's house.

"I don't know, he mentioned something about the Colt , but—Whoa-ho-ho! Whose ride is _that_?" Dean said, grinning when he saw the sweet little copper-colored 1966 Ford Mustang V8 Coupe convertible with a white top that was parked right by the side of Bobby's house. If he had peered in through the window at the right angle, he would have noticed that there were wards against demons and other supernatural creepies painted on the underside of the roof. He also might have been impressed to know about the other wards painted on the rest of the car's frame, hidden by the upholstery. There was also a fun arsenal hidden in the trunk too. "Dude, check out the craftsmanship—are those ghost flames? Whoever did this paint job was an artist."

"Thanks, but flattery isn't going to save you." A familiar voice deadpanned from right behind them. They both turned around to see a very attractive, petite, twenty-one year-old girl. She had long, curly brunette hair, blue eyes, and lightly sunkissed skin. If they shrunk her (and her C-cup sized boobs) down, then she would be the spitting image of certain sixteen-year-old they used to know.

"Chris?" Sam asked, breaking out into a genuine smile when he saw his long lost 'sister'. "Long time no see! What are you—"

"What are you doing here?" Dean demanded sharply with disapproval written all over his face. "I thought you were out, done with hunting—You should have _stayed_ out. If you think I'm going to let you back in, then—"

_WHAM!_

Without warning, Chris suddenly and mercilessly _slammed_ her fist into Dean's face without even the slightest hint of hesitation, sending him stumbling back into her car.

"What the fu—_!_?" Dean hissed, glaring at her in blatant disbelief, as he held a hand to his sore face. What the _hell _did she think she was doing?

"_That's my line!"_ Chris roared furiously. "What the _fuck_ were you thinking, selling your soul_!_? You've done some stupid shit before Dean, but this one should win a fuckin' Darwin award_!_!" Sam raised both eyebrows in surprise. Chris never used the F-word unless she was _really_ pissed. He decided to take a few steps back and remove himself from the path of hurricane Christine. Maybe he should just wait for them inside… where it was safe…

"It's _my _soul—I can do what _I want_ with it!" Dean snapped back, grabbing her wrist before she could take another swing. "And are you sure they actually released you from the nut house, or did you just bust yourself out and not tell us—because _normal_ people usually don't say 'hi' by _decking _people! And how did you even know about all that stuff to begin with?"

"Well someone had to do it, and I'm only too happy to knock some sense into that thick skull of yours. It serves you right for trying to cut ties with me. You really think you can get rid of me that easily?" She asked pointedly, crossing her arms, as she narrowed her eyes at him. "As for how I knew, Bobby told me. He seems to be the only one willing to tell me _anything_ these days.

"I was _protecting_ you, you dumbass." Dean argued stubbornly. "You're not a hunter anymore—haven't been for years. The circumstances behind it sucked, but you managed to get out—_You were safe!"_

Chris scoffed in disbelief.

"Are you serious? Look, just because I needed to take some time away to go somewhere until I could get my head straightened out, doesn't mean I wanted to get away from _you_. My 'illness' wasn't caused by any trauma, just so you know. It was just some random chemical imbalance in my brain. The doctors don't know what caused it, but my personal theory is some synapse broke off or got fried sometime during puberty… Anyway, you say you want to protect me, _fine_—but it's a two way street, Dean. You guys are my family, and _nothing_ is going to change that. I've got your back, always have. You don't like it, too bad, because I'm not going anywhere. Not until we at least find a way to get you out of this contract and save your ass."

"Look, I don't think you get just how dangerous this is. Didn't Bobby tell you how many demons got out of the gate? It was enough for an army—a whole freakin' army of demons—all ready to party and spread a little Hell on earth. We already ran into _the _Seven Deadly Sins, okay? Who knows what else is out there. You might not need to stay in a hospital anymore, but do you really think you're going to be able to handle all that crap when you still need to pop happy pills on a _good_ day?"

"Okay, first of all, I don't need to pop pills anymore, because the doc says I'm in remission."

"Remission?" Dean asked skeptically.

"Yeah, as in my severe major depression just magically disappeared about two months ago, so my shrink finally cleared me as a flight risk. I'm officially back in black." She explained, flashing him a brilliant shit-eating grin. "And of course Bobby told me! That's exactly why I want in. I mean, let's face it. You guys are gonna need all the help you can get. Besides, did you really think that just because I started living amongst the blissfully ignorant civilians, that my safety would be guaranteed? Denying something's existence doesn't make it any less real, Dean. I've already had to exorcise a couple of my coworkers and neighbors. Just because you stop looking for trouble, doesn't mean it stops looking for you." She stated firmly, holding his gaze. She knew how overprotective Dean could be when it came to family, and she needed him to understand that she was a big girl now. She could take care of herself. "Look, I never had any fluffy, cotton-candy illusions about being able to spend the rest of my days living some peaceful, apple-pie life, okay. I knew that someday _something_ was going to end up dragging me back in. I just want to save as many people as possible for as long as I can, alright?"

Dean stared at the girl in front of him, wondering how and when the scared little girl he had met that fateful night all those years ago when Yellow Eyes killed her mother, just like he had killed theirs, had gotten so strong. She had always been stubborn, but this time was different. He could see the determination and resolve burning in her bright, blue eyes. No mater what he said, no mater how much he tried to reason with her, nothing could change her mind now. _She was doing this._ He could either let her join him and Sam, or she would go off and do something about it on her own. He sighed in defeat as he shook his head. The choice was clear.

"Alright. I can't believe I'm saying this, but alright. You can stay." Dean said, hoping he wasn't going to end up regretting this. He didn't like it, but if she was determined to do this, it would be better if he could at least keep an eye on her. "But I have some conditions."

"Okay, like what?" She asked, surprised he actually gave in so quickly. She had been expecting their little Mexican standoff of a staring contest to last a little longer than that.

"For one, if I say it's too dangerous for you—_it's too dangerous._ You can come along on some hunts, but until you get back into the swing of things, I think it'd be better if you stayed with Bobby and work as support while you brush up on your lore."

"Fine, but if you get any leads on your situation or any other major things—like a Devil's Gate opening—you'd better call me, or I'll kick your ass and throw your proverbial rule book in a proverbial woodchipper."

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Author's note: I've added a link for an image for Chris on my Profile, just in case you were curious.


	3. Family Reunion2

I don't own Supernatural or any of the characters in it, but I do own my OC.

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**_Chapter3: A Dysfunctional Family Reunion—Part 2  
_**

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Bobby looked up from his desk when Sam entered the room.

"Hey, Sam… Where's Dean?" He asked, furrowing his brow slightly, when he realized the older Winchester brother wasn't behind him.

"Oh, he's still outside with Chris, still getting himself ripped a new one." Sam said as he took a seat. "Is that what I think it is?" He asked, nodding at the dismantled gun and old, weathered diagrams spread out on the desk.

"If you're thinkin' it's the Colt and its original blue prints, then yes. It is." Bobby confirmed, leaning back in his chair, as Sam leaned forward to take a better look.

"Bobby… This is… wherever did you find this?" Sam asked, amazed. Bobby always seemed to have endless sources of knowledge and resources for all things supernatural, like an occult version of Toys 'R Us, but this was just incredible. He didn't even know these documents existed until now.

"I didn't find it, Chris did. She didn't drive all the way to South Dakota just to kick your brother's ass into gear, you know." Bobby said, making a sound that was between a scoff and a laugh.

"Seriously? _Where?"_ Sam asked, marveling at the serendipity of it all. Chris always did have a knack for finding things that had been hidden where you'd least expect them to be.

"Would you believe in her next door neighbor's basement, with the rest of his antique gun collection?" Bobby asked sardonically. Sam smiled wryly.

"Yeah, that sounds about right." He said, laughing quietly as he shook his head in disbelief. "So… I take it you're the one who told her everything?"

"Well, _yeah_. You know what she's like. Sometimes that girl scares me more than any demon with those freakin' Jedi mind tricks she picked up from all that therapy she's been through. I figured since I was gonna end up telling her eventually anyway, I might as well tell her while there were still a few states in between us. Didn't want the hothead shooting the messenger, if you know what I mean."

"I see your point... She's not coming after me once she's done with Dean, is she?"

"I don't know. She hasn't been too pleased with you for the long radio silence you've been maintaining. I mean, she had to hear about John's death from _me_ because neither of you boys could be bothered to pick up a damn phone, and she didn't appreciate being left out of the loop with your disappearing act and the Devil's Gate, but she's not too angry since she knows she probably wouldn't have made it in time to do much anyway, being all the way down in New Orleans. Besides, it's not like she was ever as big on getting revenge as you boys and your dad. She always had faith you'd get that bastard someday… She was just… worried about you, you know?"

"Yeah… yeah, I know…" Sam said. Before her illness started up, Chris had always been the one with the healthiest attitude towards their crazy, messed up life. She had an easier time letting go of her rage. She just vented once and moved on. "She looks good though. Whatever she's taking, it's really working for her."

"That's the thing, Sam. She isn't taking anything."

"What? But then… how is she okay?"

"I don't know, neither does she or her doctors. She just suddenly got better around two months ago, almost completely cured, over night."

"Two months ago? Bobby, you don't think… you don't think this has anything to do with the demons that got out, do you?" Sam asked urgently, his brow creasing with concern.

"Don't worry. Whatever cured her, it wasn't no demon. Believe me, I already did every test under the sun. It's all her, one-hundred percent." Bobby reassured him.

"Oh, so that's why my greeting included a splash of holy water in the face the other day." Chris commented dryly as she and Dean waltzed into the room. "If I had known, I would've put on _waterproof_ mascara that morning."

"I had to be sure." Bobby said, shrugging apologetically.

"Yeah, well… I guess the timing did seem a little too close to be a coincidence, so I'll let it slide this time, but just so you know, I _do_ have an anti-possession tatt, Bobby. I got it after I noticed the sudden increase in demonic omens, just in case." She said casually. She paused for a brief moment then laughed. "Man, I love how I can actually talk about this stuff like it's normal with you guys."

"Yeah, I can imagine what your therapist would say if you ever mentioned any of this stuff." Sam said sympathetically.

"Oh yeah, they'd lock me up again and throw away the key." Chris said, nodding her head, with a sardonic smile on her face.

"Then why did you get a tattoo with a pentagram in it? Most people would see that and go straight to demon worship, not protection from them." Dean pointed out.

"True, but who says I got it in a place where other people are gonna be able to see it that easily?" She retorted coyly, raising an eyebrow.

"… Okay, now you _definitely _have to show me." Dean said with a perfectly straight face, although, the others could tell he was suppressing a smirk.

"Dean!" Sam scolded him, while Bobby just shook his head. At least they were all getting along with each other again.

"Nice try, but it's not gonna happen." Chris said, laughing and shaking her head. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. Sam was still a sweet and sensitive nerd, and Dean was still a womanizer with a devil-may-care attitude… who had only a year left to live…

Christine gave her head another shake, pushing those depressing thoughts aside for bit. Worrying about it wouldn't accomplish anything. She clapped her hands.

"So, I can't show you my tattoo, but I can make lunch. Anybody else hungry yet? Ever since I got off my meds, my appetite's gotten bigger. It's like I've got one long case of the munchies or something." She said cheerfully.

Dean raised an eyebrow at the sudden subject change, and he was tempted to throw in a teasing comment about the dangers comfort eating could pose to her waistline, but he decided he really didn't feel like having to defend his kneecaps at the moment.

"Sure, lunch sounds… great." Sam said, pleasantly surprised. Since they had hardly ever stayed in a hotel that had a real oven growing up, he didn't even realize she could cook. "Uh, do you need any help?"

"Thanks, but I got it, Sam. I figured I'd just make us some Croque-Monsieurs, or maybe Croque-Madams—You probably want fried egg on yours, right Dean?" She said as she got up and made her way into the kitchen.

"Probably, but what the heck is a Croque-whatever you said?" Dean asked, furrowing his brow slightly in confusion. "When did you get all fancy and French?"

"I guess you're about to find out, but come on, Dean, I've lived in New Orleans for the past six years—You think I'm not gonna pick up a few things? They've got some of the best food in the world in that city." She said, flashing him a brilliant shit-eating grin as she disappeared into the kitchen.

Dean shook his head as he turned back to Sam and Bobby, who were both staring at him with something between laughter and pity in their eyes. He seriously didn't know what a Croque-Monsieur was? This walking stomach with legs?

"What?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna go help Chris. Maybe you can explain it to him, Bobby." Sam said, sighing, as he got up and went to join Christine in the kitchen. "So… how much do you know?" Sam asked Chris, watching while she set the oven temp and started pulling out ingredients. She must have gone shopping for Bobby since he seemed to be stocked up on real food for a change.

"You mean about Dean's deal?" She asked, pausing when she saw the expression on his face. "… What's wrong, Sam? Wait, you don't think I actually blame you, do you? It wasn't your fault, Sam. Dean made that deal on his own."

"I know, but… did he tell you about how part of the deal was that if he tries to welch… if he tries to break or back out of the contract… then supposedly the deal is off, and I go back to being dead." Sam said, looking her in the eyes so she'd know how serious he was. "He just told me, when I kept hounding him about why he wasn't even trying to find a way out... I don't think he even _wants_ to be saved."

"Sam…" Chris said quietly, looking as though she was on the verge of tears, she raised both her hands reaching up to his face. She knew Sam must be feeling so torn inside. She knew because she felt the same way. All the three of them had were each other... well, and Bobby. To be told that their options were either back out of the deal and let Sam die or do nothing to interfere and let Dean die and go to Hell in one year... As far as Chris was concerned, those weren't options at all. This wasn't over—_not by a long shot._

_SMACK._

Sam blinked, kind of stunned that she had just somehow managed to slap both his cheeks simultaneously... kind of like a hard clap, but with his face in the middle. Up until the last second, he had been under the impression she was going to _gently_ place her hands on each side of his face in some comforting gesture—not smack some sense into him.

"Sam, I'm totally with you on saving Dean here, but that doesn't mean I'm not glad you're alive—I just don't want him to have to go to Hell—but I _definitely_ don't want you dying again, either!" She told him, huffing a little with exasperation. "Look, don't worry... We _will_ figure something out... But, I _swear_—You two are going to be the death of me with how much you make me worry! Oh, that reminds me—I'm still upset with you for changing your number and _never calling me back_ to give me the new one or to _at leas_t let me know you didn't just _die in a ditch somewhere_. So, unless you're a glutton for punishment—you might want to get out of my kitchen before I decide to deck you too."

"But… isn't this is Bobby's kitchen…?" Sam said hesitantly, still a little off balance from her sudden strike.

"It's mine while I'm in it—Now, _out_!" She snapped sternly, pointing to the door with the random cooking utensil she had just grabbed from the drawer.

"All right, okay—I'm going!" Sam said quickly, carefully backing away from her, and out of the kitchen. A wooden cooking spoon had never looked so threatening before. He let out a sigh of relief as he closed the doors behind him.

"What's the matter, Sammy? Couldn't handle the heat?" Dean teased, flashing his younger brother a brilliant shit-eating grin.

"Shut up." Sam replied a little snippily, clearly not in the mood to be heckled. He had forgotten how scary she could be when she got mad.

"She kicked you out, didn't she?" Bobby stated more than asked.

"Yeah, pretty much." Sam admitted as he slumped into a chair. "I never knew a wooden spoon could look so dangerous..."

"So anyway, what was it you were about to tell me, Bobby—you know, aside from the fact that a Croque-Monsieur is in fact an extremely delicious French version of a grilled ham and cheese sandwich?" Dean asked curiously, glancing at his adopted father-figure. "Something about the Colt?"


	4. Sin City1

Author's note: I've decided to keep the original titles of the episodes for any chapters covering them to make it easier to keep track of what's happening when, and they'll probably just be broken up into several parts, depending on how long they are and when my hand starts cramping up from typing (^_^;).

I don't own Supernatural or any of the characters in it, but I do own my OC.

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_**Chapter 4: Sin City [Part1]**_

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**Singer Salvage Yard  
A few days later…**

"Pfft—Ahahaha!" Christine burst out, laughing so hard she had to put down the bullet she had been in the middle of carving, so she wouldn't accidentally drop and lose it.

"Okay, it's not _that_ funny." Sam said a little sourly, pursing his lips in annoyance as he sifted through different articles and clippings, looking for any signs of demonic omens, while Bobby cleaned and examined the disassembled Colt with a magnifying glass, and Dean and Chris worked on mixing, melting, molding, and carving little crosses and numbers into the new bullets. The two brothers had been recounting their last job involving the cursed rabbit's foot and a certain sexy, British con-artist/thief...

Apparently, it was _hilarious_.

"Well, other than $46,000 worth of hard-earned scratch-lotto tickets being stolen… Yeah, I think Chris might have a point. It is kind of funny how you kept self-destructing. Maybe we should've invested in a video camera—we could have won _big_ on _America's Funniest Home Videos_."

Sam sighed in annoyance and shook his head as he went back to shuffling through the papers. He had almost forgotten that these two had the same warped sense of humor. Of course Chris would find his little stint as a walking Murphy's Law funny. She was the type who would laugh at herself if she had a funny and embarrassing prat fall herself—in fact, she actually had laughed that one time she seriously slipped on a wet floor and did one of those cartoon falls—you know, the kind where you do almost a complete flip in midair before hitting the floor. Admittedly, even Sam had laughed at that one once he knew she was okay and hadn't seriously hurt herself.

"Hey." He called out after a few moments, getting their attention.

"Hey, what's up?" Dean asked.

"Something ping your radar, Sam?" Chris asked.

"Yeah, I might've found some omens in Ohio." Sam replied, still sifting through the documents. "Dry lightning… Barometric-pressure drop…"

"Well, that's thrilling." Dean commented dryly as he hammered out another bullet. He was starting to wonder if maybe he should make another mould, since setting and hardening them only one at a time, by hand was getting to be kind of tedious and a real pain in the ass.

"Plus some guy blows his head off in a church and another goes postal in a hobby shop before the cops take him out. Might be demonic omens." Sam added as he strolled over to join them, causing them all to stop what they were doing and look at him. He certainly had their attention now.

"Or just a suicide and a psycho scrapbooker." Dean countered drolly before returning to his work.

"Yeah, but who offs themselves in a church?" Chris asked dubiously. "I don't know what denomination the vic was, but Catholics believe that suicide is a one-way ticket to Hell. That's part of what kept me from going through with it. Why blow my brains out to stop my suffering on earth if I'm just going to end up somewhere much,_ much_ worse for the rest of_ eternity_? Kind of defeats the purpose, doesn't it?"

Dean raised an eyebrow at her. Was this over-sharing of hers a side-affect of being shrinked too often?

"… Okaaay… but it's our best lead since Lincoln." Sam said, deciding not to even try to touch that awkward comment.

"Where in Ohio?" Dean asked.

"Elizabethville. It's a half-dead factory town in the rust belt." Sam explained.

"Sounds dismal. No wonder people are losing it." Chris said, grimacing a little. It didn't sound like the kind of place you would want to visit, let alone live in.

"There's got to be a demon or two in South Beach." Dean said, clearly seconding that emotion.

"Sorry, Hef. Maybe next time." Sam said, smiling with wry amusement, before turning to the third worker bee in the room. "How's it going, Bobby?"

"Slow." Bobby replied honestly. They had made more progress than he had on his own before, but even with the blueprints, it was like trying to put Humpty Dumpty back together again.

"I gotta tell you, it's a little sad seeing the Colt like that." Dean said.

"Well, the only thing it's good for now is figuring out what makes it tick." Bobby said practically.

"So what makes it tick?" Sam asked, causing Bobby to stop what he was doing and raise his head to give Sam a look. He was really close to either smacking him upside the head or asking Chris to go fetch the duck-tape for him. Sam must have realized this, because he raised his hands and took a step back to show he was backing off. Chris just smiled and shook her head, while Dean glanced between the two men with the ghost of a smirk itching to spread across his face, but he managed to hold it back.

"So, if we want to go check out these omens in Ohio…" Dean started as he stood up and reached for his jacket. "… You think you can have that thing ready by this afternoon?"

Sam snorted, unable to completely suppress his laughter as a grin spread across his face. Chris had to place a hand over her mouth as she leaned on the work table for support. She didn't laugh out loud, but you could see amusement dancing in her eyes. She felt sorry for Bobby, being ganged up on like this, but it was kind of funny… and she knew he was going to make some kind of witty rejoinder to get beck at them.

"Well, it won't kill demons by then, but I can promise you it'll kill _you."_ Bobby retorted dryly, perfectly straight-faced as he pointed the handle at Dean and cocked the incomplete pistol for emphasis. Dean, Sam, and Chris all smiled, trying not to laugh too much.

"Alright, come on, we're wasting daylight." Dean said as he and Sam turned to leave. "You coming, Chris?"

"Nah. I think I'll stay here and help Bobby. Good luck demon hunting, though." She replied casually, giving them a little wave.

"Are you sure?" Sam asked, surprised she had actually turned down Dean's offer. Although it was kind of obvious neither of them seemed to really share Sam's conviction that there were definitely demons to be found in Elizabethville, she seemed to have been itching for some action until just a few seconds ago.  
"Hmm, let's see… stay here and get to work on remaking one of the most awesome and legendary guns that can kill anything supernatural, or drive all the way out to some half-dead, rustbucket town in Ohio for what could end up being just a wild goose chase… Oh yeah, I'm sure." Chris said, smiling wryly as she leaned back in her chair, raising an eye brow at them.

The two borthers glanced at each other and shrugged. She did have a point there… Oh well, it'd be her loss if they did find a demon. Bobby just shook his head. At least _someone_ was willing to stay behind and help him, whatever the reason.

"Suit yourself." Dean told her, smiling wryly, as he shook his head. Truth be told, he actually wanted her to stay behind with Bobby, and the only reason he had offered to let her come in the first place, was because he doubted there would be any real demons there, and it would be a good, slow case to help her warm-up and get back into the swing of things. But this worked just as well. Now she could catch up on some of the lore Bobby had lying around in between working on the Colt. He knew she would, since she was almost as big of a nerd as Sam.

"Well, see you, Bobby. Later, Chris." Sam said, and the two brothers turned to leave again.

"Hey." Bobby called after them. "You boys run into anything—_anything_—you call us." The boys glanced at each other for a fraction of a second before nodding in agreement and once again heading for the exit.

"Oh, and bring back a souvenir while you're at it!" Chris hollered after them teasingly as the door swung shut behind them.

–_–_–_–

**Elizabethville, Ohio**  
**After a few days of traveling…**

"There's not much left for the insurance company." The priest of the local catholic church told Sam and Dean as he showed them inside. "It _was_ a suicide. I saw it myself."

"Well, this shouldn't take long, then." Dean said as he pulled out a small notepad to take notes on his statement. They found a few props here and there helped make their disguises more believable.

The priest sighed as he stopped in the aisle, right where he had been standing when the incident in question took place. The brothers followed his gaze up to the Choir loft. With sun shining brightly through the large and colorful stained-glass window behind the pews, it looked less like the scene of a bloody tragedy and more like some psychedelic disco room… but that would have been kind of inappropriate to point out in front of the padre, who was clearly choked up over remembering the death of a parishioner, despite his relatively calm façade.

"That's where Andy did it. It's the first time I'd seen him in weeks. He used to come every Sunday." He explained sadly. Dean glanced at the priest out the corner of his eye, then back up at the loft. If that was true, then taking into account what Chris had said, it really was strange the man would gank himself inside a church. Wouldn't breaking a rule like that in a place like this just ensure he would end up in an even worse spot in hell?

"When did he stop?" Sam asked as he and Dean both turned their full attention back to the priest.

"Probably about… two months ago…" The priest said thoughtfully, glancing briefly at Sam before turning back to the loft. "Right around the time everything else started to change…"

"Change how?" Sam pushed subtly as Dean's pen quickly began recording notes on the priest's testimony. The priest's quiet laugh as he folded his hands and turned back to them was tinged with bittersweet irony.

"Let's just say this used to be a town… you could be proud of. People… cared about each other. Andy sang in the choir, and then one day, he just wasn't Andy anymore." He explained sadly. "It was like he was…"

"Possessed?" Sam offered.

The priest's eyes widened slightly as he froze for a brief moment, obviously surprised by Sam's choice of words, but then he calmed himself and turned to face Sam, looking him straight in the eye.

"You could say that." He stated calmly. "Gambled away his money, cheated on his wife, destroyed his business. Yes, like a switch had flipped."

"Father, did you know the man who killed those folks in the hobby shop?" Sam asked carefully.

"Sure, Tony Perkins." The Priest replied easily.

"Tony Perkins?" Sam repeated, glancing at Dean to make sure he was getting everything.

"Good man." The priest added respectfully.

"Would you say that his personality suddenly changed one day, too?" Sam asked.

"I never thought about it that way, but… Yes." The priest said thoughtfully, nodding to himself as he considered what Sam was saying. "About the same time as Andy—about two months ago." Sam opened and closed his mouth before glancing one last time at Dean, who seemed to be a little concerned about the fantastic coincidence of two men from the same town suddenly having a complete change in personality around the same time the demon gate had opened… and the same time Chris had suddenly recovered from her depression by extension.

"Well, thank you, Father. Appreciate your time." Dean said, flashing the priest a professional smile as he flipped the notepad shut. The father returned his smile and gave them each a slight nod of the head for a silent farewell before leaving them. Dean tucked the notepad and pen inside his suit jacket as he and Sam started making their way to the exit on the opposite side of the church.

"Two months ago, we open up the Devil's Gate, and all of a sudden this town turns into Margaritaville? It's no coincidence." Sam commented lowly.

–_–_–_–

Dean let out a sigh as they finally trudged into their hotel room, but then he started to chuckle when he looked up at the ceiling. The whole thing was covered in mirrored tiles. Whoever designed this place definitely had a dirty mind. Sam glanced questioningly at his brother before deciding to just ignore him and focus on unpacking, while Dean sauntered over to close their still open door. Dean had his hand on the handle, but he stopped when he saw a familiar face step out of the room across the hall. The shorter man had a ruddy complexion and dark, curly (kind of greasy) hair. He was sporting a plaid fedora, a tracksuit over a white wife-beater, and a gold chain around his neck.

"Richie." Dean called out to the other man, hoping he had the right name and the right person. He apparently did, because Richie glanced up from the money he was counting. "I don't believe it." Dean told Sam, shaking his head as smile broke out across his face.

"Hey. Dean… Winchester, right?" Richie said, breaking out into an identical grin as he reached out and shook Dean's hand.

"Yeah." Dean said, his smile faltering, when a smokin' hot, scantily clad, blonde bombshell came strolling out of Richie's room and stopped in the doorway, obviously waiting for something.

"Oh, uh… This is my sister, uh, Cheryl." Richie said awkwardly, trying to laugh it off.

"Hi, Cheryl." Dean said a little hesitantly, still a little surprised and taken aback to see such a hot girl with a guy like Richie. He exchanged a look with Sam as Richie handed her the wad of bills he had been counting out before.

"There." Richie said as he placed it in her hands. He nearly licked his lips as he and the others watched sexy Cheryl walk away and disappear around the corner the moment she had her money. As they turned to face each other again, Richie noticed the strange look Dean was giving him.

"Well, you know… stepsister." He amended, laughing, as he grinned impishly. Dean didn't believe that for a second, but whatever. He rolled his eyes, smiling wryly in bemusement at their awkward little reunion, as he turned back into the room and stepped aside to let the other man in.

"Come on in." Dean said, graciously inviting the odd little man in. "This is my brother, Sam."

"Hey, how you doing?" Richie greeted Sam as he casually strolled in without hesitation.

"Not too bad." Sam replied, smiling a little wryly in amusement. "How do you two know each other?" He asked curiously, wondering how his brother had made friends with someone who seemed to be his complete opposite, based on appearance.

"You were in school." Dean explained, exhaling, as he removed his jacket and started untucking his shirt.

"It was that, uh, succubus, right?" Richie said, snapping his fingers to help jog his memory.

"Yeah, yeah." Dean agreed.

"Oh_, man._ You should have seen the rack on this broad." Richie told Sam. "Freakin' tragedy when I had to gank her."

"Whoa, whoa. Wait. Who killed her?" Dean said, furrowing his brow slightly in annoyance as he put on the breaks and slowed Richie's roll. "If I remember, you ass was _toast_ until I showed up."

Sam smiled as he listened to their friendly bantering and removed his coat. He had never seen Dean having so much fun talking with a friend like this before.

"Oh, I forgot what a comedian this guys was." Richie said, nodding at Dean, as he looked to Sam.

"I told you then. I'll tell you again." Dean said as Richie's cellphone started to ring. "You're not cut out for this job. Your gonna get yourself killed." He said seriously, trying to give Richie some friendly advice that could save his ass. Richie didn't seem to like it though, because he ignored Dean and answered his phone instead.

"Talk to me." He said, only sparing the taller man a brief glance before walking straight past him. "FYI, Winchester—Words hurt. Yeah." Richie added as he backed away before raising the phone to his ear again.

Dean made a face and shrugged as he turned back to his unopened suitcase.

"No, it's not a good time, baby. Later." Richie said into his phone and quickly hung up.

"So, you find anything in this town, anyway?" Dean asked, probably his way of subtly offering the guy an olive branch.

"Uh, no. I got nothin'." Richie replied easily as he settled onto the couch.

Dean glanced up from his unpacking, letting Richie know he wasn't buying it.

"Oh, wait a minute, you mean as in demons and whatnot?" Richie asked, suddenly getting serious of he leaned forward.

"Yeah." Dean said in a light tone that reminded Sam of an adult trying to patiently get a slow child to give them a straight answer.

"Yeah, no. I got nothing." Richie said, breaking out into another impish grin as he relaxed again.

"Typical. What about your sister back there?" Dean asked.

"Oh, honestly, she _definitely_ had the devil in her, but she wasn't no _demon_, you know what I'm sayin'?" Richie joked, smirking at his own innuendos. Dean just stared at his strange little friend, furrowed his brow as his eyes moved to the door of the hallway they had last seen said 'sister' in, and raised them briefly as if to say 'O-_kaay_…'

He liked Richie, but sometimes he wondered about the guy… Maybe it was a good thing Chris wasn't there to meet him.

"… Right." Richie said, his smile falling a bit when he realized Dean wasn't as amused as he thought he would be, but nothing kept Richie down for long. "Seriously." Richie said, getting back to business, as he stood up and walked back over by Dean. "Church guy, hobby shop guy—They were lunchmeat by the time I got there. And maybe they were possessed, but I can't prove it."

"Yeah, that's where we are, too." Sam admitted. Dean glanced briefly at Sam as he raised his fisted hand slightly, as though something had occurred to him, but then he just sat himself down on his bed so he could change his shoes. "You know, let's just say the demons are possessing people in this town. You know, raising hell." Sam suggested, hoping the others would be willing to brainstorm for a little while.

"Yeah, but why would a demon blow his brains out?" Dean asked reasonably while he removed his stiff, black dress shoes.

"For fun?" Richie suggested. "You know, he wrecks one body, moves onto another. Like taking a stolen car for a joyride."

"Anybody else in town that fits the profile—you know, nice guy turned douche—that's still breathing?" Dean asked.

"There's Trotter." Richie said.

"Who's that?" Dean asked as he stood up and stepped into a more comfortable pair of shoes. He noticed there was a very familiar little 'Magic Fingers' box with a quarter slot on the nightstand by his bed. Dean set a stack of quarters on top of it for later He had a shit-eating grin on his face when he turned back around to face the others. Sam didn't even bother to ask this time.

"Well, he used to be head of the rotary club, and then people say he turned bastard all of a sudden. Brought in the gambling, the hookers. He practically owns this whole town." Richie explained.

"You know where we could find him?" Sam asked.

Richie smiled knowingly.

"Oh, yeah. He'll be at his bar in a few hours."


	5. Sin City2

I don't own Supernatural or any of the characters in it, but I do own my OC.

* * *

_**Chapter 4: Sin City [Part2]**_

* * *

**Meanwhile,  
back with Bobby and Chris…**

"Alright." Bobby said, clicking The Colt's loaded barrel back into place. "We've got it back in one piece again, so lets go see how it shoots. You done settin' up the targets, Chris?"

"Yeah, but how are we going to know if it'll work on a demon when we're only using sand bags for practice targets?" She asked. She hated to burst Bobby's bubble, but she'd rather they be realistic now rather than try to go hunting with it, only to find out that it didn't work when they needed it the most.

"I know that, Chris. I'm not an idjit. We're just taking this one step at a time. There'd be no point in going through the trouble of trying to find a demon to test it on yet if the darn thing won't even fire, right?" He explained patiently, raising the gun and taking aim at the first target. "Now stand back. I'll let you try it after I've made sure it isn't gonna jam and explode in our hands or somethin'."

After all, The Colt looked almost identical to Samuel Colt's _Texas Patterson 1836_ model, but, unlike that version of the revolver, which had been sold for mass consumption and was a powder and cap gun, The Colt had been specially designed to be able to take cartridges too—something that supposedly hadn't been invented until Smith and Wesson produced the first cartridge gun in 1856.

Anyway, the point is… Just because Samuel Colt got it to work right when he first put it together, didn't guarantee that they could, so Bobby wanted to try playing it safe first.

"Awesome. Be careful, Bobby." Chris said, smiling, as she backed up to a safe distance. She sincerely doubted the gun would actually explode since they had quadruple-checked it already, but Chris was pretty sure she was the only one in their little circle who hadn't had a chance to fire the legendary gun yet. It would be a lie if she said she wasn't excited to finally have a chance to try it for herself. She crossed her arms and leaned against a nearby tree while she watched Bobby fire two shots into the first sandbag.

_BANG!_

_BANG!_

It was a good thing they were out in the middle of the woods on the edge of Bobby's property, where unsuspecting passerby shouldn't be able to see or hear them, because every shot went off like a mighty crack of thunder, reverberating through the air around them. Christine was used to hearing gunfire, but this sucker was _loud_. It must have a lot of kick to its recoil. She noticed Bobby had paused and started using a thin, black rod to file down something on the hammer. She was about to ask why, but then he raised the gun and fired another shot. Whatever he was trying to fix must not have worked, because Bobby didn't look happy as he stopped and tried to adjust something else.

"Something wrong, Bobby?" Chris asked as she pushed off of the tree trunk and walked over to get a better look at whatever it was he was trying to do.

"Just stay back, Christine. I got this." Bobby chided her as he went to raise the pistol again, but they were both caught off guard when an unfamiliar voice chimed into their conversation.

"Cute Piece." Ruby quipped as she casually strolled onto the scene, startling the two humans.

"Who are you?" Bobby asked warily, angling the Colt so that it was aimed at the suspicious stranger instead of the next target. As inconspicuously as possible, Christine slowly reached for the small silver throwing knife she kept on her, although she found herself wishing she had something iron instead. This chick was really sending her spidey-senses tingling.

"It won't work on a demon, if that's what you're think." Ruby continued confidently, ignoring his question.

"And how the hell would you know?" Bobby asked, firmly standing his ground.

"Oh, I don't know…" Ruby said sarcastically, lowering her head slightly, as she flashed her demonic black eyes at them for a moment. "Call it an educated guess."

Yeah, Chris was really wishing she had brought some iron or holy water now, and she's pretty sure Bobby was too.

"Well, ain't I lucky, then? Found a subject for a test fire." Bobby said smartly, managing to sound a lot more confident than he felt, as he tightened his grip on the Colt. He knew that even with Chris there to help him, if the Colt didn't work, it would be a bitch of a fight to exorcise a demon without a devil's trap to hold it.

Ruby laughed.

"Luck had nothing to do with it." She said, smiling sardonically at the two humans. "But, hey, by all means." She uncrossed her arms, holding them out to the side, so he had a clear shot of her chest and abdomen as she stepped in front of their target. "Take your best shot."

Bobby shifted his stance a bit, but he didn't fire. Chris didn't blame him. After all, whenever something involving a demon seemed too good to be true… It generally_ was_.

Ruby sighed impatiently.

"Are you just gonna stand there like a pantywaist, or are you gonna _shoot_ me_!_?" She demanded harshly.

—_BANG!_

No sooner than the words had left her mouth, Bobby pulled the trigger and shot the demon straight in the middle of her chest. The force of the bullet sent her stumbling back a little bit, but she was still standing as she stared down at her wounded chest.

"_Ouch."_ The demon said sarcastically, raising her head, to look at them again. "That smarts a little."

Bobby just stared at her for a moment, stunned. Chris had never seen the Colt in action before, but based on the fact that the demon was still standing—despite that being a kill shot—and Bobby's stunned expression… she had a feeling that wasn't what was supposed to happen… which meant the Colt didn't work.

_They were so screwed._

"What do you want?" Bobby asked warily, lowering the useless gun.

"Peace on earth." Ruby offered as she began stalking closer to them. "A new _shirt_." She added practically, plucking her ruined shirt for emphasis.

Christine raised an eyebrow at the practical request and decided to file away her tone of voice and demeanor for future reference, since the demon was probably telling the truth about that one.

"Now… Do you want me to help you out with that _gun_ or not? Hmm?" Ruby asked knowingly, smirking at the surprised expressions on their faces. Bobby and Christine glanced at each other, equally puzzled.

"… Why would you want to help us fix a gun that can _kill you_?" Chris asked cautiously as she stepped up beside Bobby, silver knife in hand.

Ruby stared at her strangely, as if noticing her for the first time. She started looking Christine up and down, smiling when she spotted the knife.

"Well, well. Where have they been hiding _you_ all this time?" Ruby asked brightly as she circled them, mostly so she could get a better look at Christine from all sides. "I originally thought this was going to be a pain in the ass, but with you here… well, this will make things much less complicated."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" Bobby asked sternly, almost stepping in between them, until Chris grabbed his arm, squeezing it to remind him not to do anything stupid since neither of them had a decent anti-demon weapon at the moment. She was touched he was trying to protect her, but she wasn't letting Bobby take a bullet for her if the demon decided to attack.

"_Relax._ I'm not here to kill either of you." Ruby said, sighing in exasperation, as she rolled her eyes. Why couldn't they just hurry up and trust her already? "I just need to borrow a little bit of her blood."

"… Why do you need my blood?" Chris asked, exchanging a glance with Bobby.

"Why do you think? It's for a spell, of course—You think _The Colt_ could actually kill demons and other supernatural creatures if Samuel Colt hadn't laid down some _seriously_ heavy mojo on it first?" Ruby asked them, scoffing in disbelief at their ignorance.

"_Balls."_ Bobby sighed heavily in defeat. He figured it would probably come down to something like this in the end. No matter how well-made or advance the Colt was for its time, in the end it was still just a gun. Whatever spell had been cast on it before ended the moment that last bullet was fired into Yellow Eye's chest by Dean, and good old Samuel Colt had been very careful not to leave behind any trace of it, not even as a footnote on the original blueprints. "Are you saying you actually know the spell Colt used?" He asked the demon, watching for any sign that she might be lying. Ruby smirked.

"Not only do I know it, but I'll even perform the spell _for _you." She stated confidently. "And if you let me use the 'special sauce' running through that girl's veins, then I can guarantee you that gun will be even better than before—no more thirteen bullets nonsense—just endless reloads. So, are you game?"

"… Are there going to be any lasting or weird side-affects for me if you use my blood in this spell?" Chris asked cautiously. They might need this gun, but she wasn't going to commit to anything until she knew all the dory details of this deal and had read the fine print.

"Nope. You just happen to have a very special and rare… _blood type_." Ruby replied rather cryptically.

"Since when is O-negative 'special' and _'rare'_?" Bobby asked dubiously.

"Well, for one, it helps that she's a virgin." Ruby eventually conceded after they both stared at her expectantly for a couple of minutes, but Chris couldn't shake the feeling that there was still something she wasn't telling them…

And then her cellphone rang.

"Sam?" Chris asked, surprised when she heard his concerned voice on the other end. "What? Dean's missing? How long? Okay, hold on for a sec." she covered the phone with her hand as she turned back to the others. "Hey, how soon can the Colt be ready to work on demons if we do this spell of yours?" She asked Ruby.

"It'll be ready by sundown, sugar." Ruby said truthfully. Chris bit her lip nervously as she glanced at Bobby. He nodded. They both knew what they had to do. Their boys were in trouble.

"Okay, don't worry, Sam. We'll be there as soon as we can. Be careful." Chris told Sam hurriedly before hanging up. "So, what else do you need?" She asked Ruby.


	6. Sin City3

Author's note: Thank you for reading, and I hope you're enjoying this story. Please review if you do, so I know you're interested and would like to read more. ^_^I don't own Supernatural or any of the characters in it, but I do own my OC.

* * *

_**Chapter 4: Sin City [Part3]**_

* * *

**Elizabethville, Ohio  
Trotter's Bar**

"Hey, Chris, it's Sam." Sam said as he pressed his cellphone closer to his ear, trying to hear her over the noise in the bar. He was so glad to hear a familiar voice after the day he'd had. Not only had he been completely, not to mention, embarrassingly wrong about Trotter, but now Dean was missing after they had split up so he could try to find the MIA Richie. "I found some sulfur, and now I can't find Dean. I haven't seen him since this morning. Yeah. Yeah, you too." He sighed tiredly and hung up as he approached the bar again. Despite Chris's efforts to reassure him, Sam was still worried. It had taken him and Dean like two days of driving to get from South Dakota to Ohio, so he had no idea how she thought she and Bobby were going to get there in time to help him save Dean. Sam was pretty much on his own as far as he was concerned. "Hey, excuse me. They weren't there." He said when the gruff bartender who had previously supplied him with the sexy bartender, Casey's, apartment address walked up to serve him.

"I guess you've got to catch your jollies another night." The bartender replied unhelpfully, smirking. Yeah, he was still had an extremely _wrong_ misunderstanding about what Sam's real goal here was. "Here, why don't you have a drink and relax?"

"I don't _want _to relax! What is it with the people in this town?" Sam snapped, fed up with how crass and uncaring everyone was. Dean and Casey were both missing, and no one even seemed to care!

"Suit yourself, _princess."_ The bartender replied snippily as he knocked back the shot he had just been about to offer Sam, wondering what his problem was. Sam sighed heavily with exasperation as he turned around and glanced around the bar again. He was starting to wish Chris had just come along from the beginning—He could really use some moral support, if nothing else. He was ready to bang his head against the wall until he spotted a flicker of hope in the form of Father Gil. It was a long shot, but the priest seemed to be the only other person in this bar who might give a damn about his fellow humans. Sam braced himself and started making his way towards the booth the priest was seated in.

"Father." Sam greeted the older man as he joined him.

"Yes?" The priest said, smiling pleasantly at Sam as he set down his drink.

"Um… Can I… Can I talk to you for a sec?" Sam asked a little nervously, almost at his wit's end.

–_–_–_–

**Casey's Lair**

"You know, you're piling pretty high there, sweetheart." Dean told Casey as he paced around her cellar. With her stuck in the devil's trap and him trapped in the basement after she went all 'Carrie' on him, and he had lost most of the pages from his little book of exorcisms. Since he couldn't gank her and she couldn't gank him, they didn't really have much else to do except talk while they waited to see whose partner would come to the rescue first. "I'm not sure I'm buying."

"Why would I lie?" Casey asked.

"Demons lie." Dean reminded her, pointing out what he felt should have been obvious.

"Some are true believers." She countered smoothly.

"Believers in what?"

"What, you think humans have an exclusive on a higher power?"

"You have a god?" Dean asked, laughing.

"Sure. His name's Lucifer." Casey replied very matter-of-factly.

"You mean the Devil?"

"Your word, not ours."

Dean blinked as he stopped pacing and looked at her. She was serious? "Lucifer actually means 'Light Bringer'. Look it up." She continued, dead serious. "Once, he was the most beautiful of all God's angels. But then God demanded that he bow down before man, and when he refused, God banished him. Tell me, Dean. How do _you_ like bowing before lesser creatures?"

"Lucifer's really real?" Dean asked, smiling as he shook his head. Wow, of all the crazy things…

"Well, no one's actually seen him, but they say that he made us into what we are, and they say that he'll return."

"Oh, yeah? And, uh, you believe that?"

"I've got faith."

"Mmm." Dean said, nodding. A demon with faith, imagine that.

"So, you see? Is my kind really all that different than yours?"

"Well, except that, uh… You know, demons are evil." Dean pointed out casually. She did just kill his friend Richie the other night.

"And humans are such a loveable bunch." She retorted sarcastically. _"Dick Chenney."_

"He one of yours?"

"Not yet. Let's just say he's got a parking spot reserved for him downstairs."

Dean smiled wryly as he shook his head.

"Hey, speaking of downstairs… What's it like down there?" he asked.

"What, Hell?"

"Yeah."

"That's right. You booked a one-way ticket with that deal." She said, pausing her pacing for a moment. Her eyes softened a little with something Dean could have sworn was sympathy. "You're not gonna like it, Dean. And um, judging from the trouble you've caused… I don't think you're getting the presidential suite. No, it's a pit of despair. Why do you think we _want_ to come here?"

–_–_–_–

**Trotter's Bar**

So, the—the bartender the other night, Casey, you know her pretty well?" Sam asked Father Gil.

"Since she was in pigtails." The padre replied, nodding.

"Well, um, she and my brother, they, uh…" Sam said, pausing, as he tried to figure out how he should phrase this while talking to a priest. "They… _left_ tonight… together."

"Ah." Father Gil said, sighing. "Well, not that I approve, but they are consenting adults."

"Right." Sam said, sounding a little disappointed.

"I'm sorry, you said brother? I thought you were insurance investigators." The priest asked, confused.

"Right, right. Well, we are. Um, it's like a family business, you know?" Sam said a little nervously, trying to cover for his little slip-up.

Father Gil seemed to find that explanation adequate, because he nodded for Sam to continue with their conversation.

"Anyways, um, so… I went to Casey's apartment, and they weren't there. Um, I just have this feeling that they—that they might be in trouble." Sam explained earnestly.

"What kind of trouble?" Father Gil asked.

"Just… _trouble._" Sam insisted, knowing that even an understanding man like Father Gil would probably find the truth too hard to believe. "_Please_, Father, I need your help. Is there anything you could tell me about Casey—any place she'd go, maybe?"

"Yes, there is a place." The priest replied, nodding. "Let me get my jacket."

"No, no. Wait, Father, I don't want to put you out. I can do this by myself." Sam said quickly, not wanting to endanger the kind man.

"Son, if Casey's really in trouble, then there's nothing to talk about." Father Gil told him.

Sam was touched. How could he possibly say no to that? There really was still someone who cared left in this town. The two of them stood up and went to get the kind priest's coat.

It's a shame Sam didn't see it when Father Gil sighed and his demonic black eyes were briefly visible. But the possessed padre blinked, and it was gone.

"Shall we go?" He asked Sam.

* * *

**Author's note:** Thank you for reading, and I hope you're enjoying this story. Please review if you are, so I know you're interested and would like to read more. (^_^)


	7. Sin City4

I don't own Supernatural or any of the characters in it, but I do own my OC.

* * *

_**Chapter 4: Sin City [Part4]**_

* * *

**Casey's House**

Casey let out a sigh as she lay on the floor inside the devil's trap and stretched languidly. She smiled after glancing at the tired hunter, who was now sitting on the cellar floor, leaning his back against a barrel.

"Why, Dean. If I didn't know better, I'd say that was lust in your eyes." She teased. "Well, it would be one way to spend the time. But I don't think you'd respect me in the morning."

"That's okay. I mean, hey, I barely respect you now." Dean replied a little playfully, smiling wryly. "Hey, can I ask you a question?"

"I'm an open book."

"So, the gate opened. The demon army was let out. What now, huh? I'm not seeing a big honkin' plan here."

"Honestly, there _was_ a plan." Casey said, pushing herself up into a sitting position to face Dean. "Azazel was a tyrant, but he held us all together."

"Azazel?" Dean asked, wondering if that was supposed to mean something to him.

"What? You think his friends just called him Yellow Eyes? He had a name." She explained. "After you did him in, it all fell apart."

"Sorry about that." Dean said, not looking the least bit apologetic. "So, what? No chain of command?"

"There was. It was Sam. Sam was supposed to be the grand Pooh-Bah and lead the big army, but he hasn't exactly stepped up to the plate, has he?"

"Thank God for that."

Casey laughed.

"Again with God. You think this is a good thing? Now you've got _chaos,_ a war without a front, hundreds of demons all jockeying for power, all fighting for the crown… most of them gunning for your brother."

Dean furrowed his brow slightly as he looked away. Well, that was a pretty disturbing piece of news.

"For the record, I was ready to follow Sam." She told him, causing Dean to look back at her.

Was that supposed to make him feel relieved?

–_–_–_–

"Dean!" Sam shouted as he jumped out of Father Gil's car and ran to the door of the house his brother and Casey were in. "Dean_!_?" He yelled louder and started banging on the door.

–_–_–_–

Incredibly enough, they could actually hear him down in the cellar.

"Looks like you win." Casey told Dean, who didn't waste anytime getting back on his feet.

–_–_–_–

Sam sighed as he ceased his pounding. If Dean was there, he obviously couldn't come to the door.

"Check that way." He instructed the padre, then turned and started searching along the side of the house for any sign of Dean or another possible way in.

"Sam!" He heard Dean's voice shout.

–_–_–_–

"Sammy, down here! The basement caved in!" Dean shouted as Sam's face became visible when the younger Winchester peered down at him through the metal grill high above him.

"Dean." Sam said, relieved. "Hey, hold on, okay? We're coming."

"Who's we?" Dean asked.

"I'm here with the Father." Sam replied.

Dean glanced back at Casey, trying to see if her expression might give something away, before turning back to his brother.

"Sammy, be careful." Dean warned him.

Sam furrowed his brow in confusion, but then he glanced back in the direction he had left the priest in and stood up. He pulled the flask of holy water out of his pocket as he marched back towards the front of the house.

Father Gil was waiting for him.

The priest closed his eyes and opened them again, letting Sam catch a glimpse of his demonic black eyes, but then they cleared again as the possessed priest started to advance towards him.

_BANG!_

The concrete garden sculpture just in front of the priest exploded. Sam had to shield his eyes from the debris, but the demonic Father Gil's head immediately snapped to look in the direction he had heard the gunshot come from. He was greeted by the sight of Bobby, who had just fired the Colt. The priest sneered as he waved his hand and sent poor Bobby flying. Bobby grunted in pain when he slammed into the ground, and the force of his fall knocked the pistol from his hand. Then demon turned back to Sam and started to raise his hand again.

—_BAM!_

Father Gil stumbled, and his eyes widened in surprise when he realized he had just been shot in the back with _salt_.

Sam was confused. He was wondering where Bobby had suddenly pulled that shotgun from, but it all made sense when Chris came stomping into the light, cocking the shotgun for another round.

"Sorry, Padre." Chris said solemnly as she kept the gun trained on him. "_Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus—"_

The demon cried out in pain as the exorcism rite flowed naturally from her lips.

"_Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursion_ _infernalis adversarii, omnis legio,_ _omnis—"_

Chris yelped in surprise when the demon took advantage of the brief second she had to stop to take a breath and waved his hand to send her slamming into a garden statue. She grunted in pain when she hit the pavement and ended up rolling close to Bobby.

"Urgh… hi, Bobby…" She coughed weakly. That fall had definitely knocked the wind out of her. She had almost forgotten what it felt like to have her ass handed to her like that… at least none of her bones were broken… probably.

Father Gil immediately turned back to Sam and waved him into the windshield of a car with enough force to fracture it, and proceeded to kick down the door of the house while they were all too winded to stop him. They watched as he disappeared inside.

Sam groaned and grunted in pain as he rolled himself off of the car and stumbled over to check on Bobby and Chris.

"Bobby, Chris—you all right?" Sam asked worriedly.

"Yeah." Bobby grunted as he tried to push himself up off the ground without much success. He was getting too old for this crap.

"Peachy." Chris replied, wincing, as she grabbed a nearby statue and used it for support as she pulled herself to her feet. She had a rather sharp and unfortunate pain in her side, meaning she probably _had_ broken a rib, after all. Whatever, she could get that looked at after they saved Dean's sorry hide. Was it just her, or was he on the verge of turning into their group's Danger-prone-Daphne?

"How did you know where we—" Sam started to ask, but Chris cut him off.

"Later." She said a little breathlessly, picking up her shotgun. They still had to stop the demons and save Dean.

"Go." Bobby barked gruffly. His breathing was labored as he put the Colt in Sam's hands, but he'd be fine once he had a chance to catch his breath.

"You heard the man." Ruby told Sam, smiling slightly, as she casually strolled out into the open. "Go."

–_–_–_–

Dean was a little taken aback when something slammed against all the heavy rubble and debris that was blocking the doorway of the cellar with enough force to actually jar some of it loose on the first try. Casey glanced at him as whoever or whatever was on the other side continued ramming into it. Dean glanced at her, but then he quickly turned his attention back to the door when most of the debris finally came tumbling down, and Father Gil started pushing and maneuvering his way into the room. Dean charged at the possessed priest, instantly recognizing him as an enemy, but Father Gil merely waved his hand again and sent Dean flying across the room. Dean grunted in pain when he slammed into a barrel, knocking over the candles on top of it. The demonic priest started stalking towards Casey.

"Stop!" She shouted, holding up her hand to warn him. Father Gil did as she said, and followed her eyes to the floor, where part of the devil's trap was peeking out from underneath the rug that Dean had used to hide it from Casey. The priest glanced back at her before lowering himself to the floor, kneeling as he raised his fist. He smashed his fist into the ground, cracking the concrete floor and breaking the devil's trap with a crackle of demonic energy. He grabbed the large floor rug and tossed it aside as he stood up again. Casey held her arms out to the priest, welcoming his embrace with a long and passionate kiss.

Meanwhile, poor Dean, who was panting as he picked himself up off the floor, was deeply disturbed to see the sexy Casey kissing the much older priest.

"_You two?"_ He asked incredulously.

"For centuries. We've been to Hell and back, _literally."_ Father Gil replied boldly, clearly enjoying Dean's distress.

"Leave him be." Casey said softly.

Father Gil didn't seem to be in a listening mood, or maybe he was jealous, because instead of doing as his lover had asked him to, he thrust his hand out and grabbed Dean by the throat. Dean tried to grab the demon's hand and pry it loose, but Father Gil just tightened his grip and lifted Dean up so that his feet couldn't touch the floor anymore. It was like being hung from a noose. Dean grunted in pain as he continued to struggle for his freedom, but he was turning red in the face. He was running out of air fast.

"_Please."_ Casey pleaded with her lover again, but he showed no signs of stopping.

_BANG!_

Father Gil grunted in pain when a bullet pierced his chest, and he lost his grip on Dean. Dean groaned when he hit the floor hard with a loud thud, but he was grateful to be able to breathe again. Casey and Father Gill looked up to see Sam, holding the Colt. Chris was right behind him with her shotgun. They all watched as Father Gil started to moan in pain and convulse while the magic bullet crackled with energy inside his wound and lit up his insides like a Christmas tree. The demonic priest's meat-suit fell to the floor, lifeless. The Colt really worked again. Sam turned the gun on Casey.

"Sam, wait—!" Dean shouted, but it was too late. Sam had pulled the trigger.

The bullet hit Casey square in the upper torso. They lovely and sympathetic Casey suffered the same fate as her cruel lover.

Dean couldn't see any remorse in Sam's eyes, even as his younger brother lowered the gun. He looked far too calm for someone who had just executed two people, demons or not.

"Dean… are you all right?" Chris asked, concerned when she saw the way he was looking at Sam. She glanced between the two of brothers, and then she, too, noticed just how uncharacteristically calm the younger Winchester appeared to be. "Come on, let's get out of here. Bobby's waiting." She said, helping Dean to his feet. She had a feeling he'd rather accept her help than Sam's at the moment. It made her wonder about what might have passed between him and that possessed bartender while they were trapped down here together...

**The next day…**

"Well, what do you think, Bobby? About what we did here—you think it made a difference?" Dean asked as he and Bobby crossed the street. Since Dean had seemed kind of down and worried, she had called him the moment she spotted a decent place to get pie. So, that's where they were headed. Since Sam had declined the invitation to stuff his face with pie and opted to wait back at the hotel, it gave Dean the perfect opportunity to consult Bobby and voice his concerns to the older, more experienced hunter.

"Two less demons to worry about. That's not nothin'." Bobby said reasonably.

"Yeah, but Trotter's still alive." Dean pointed out.

"Humans ain't our job." Bobby reminded him pointedly, giving him a look.

"Yeah, but you think anything's really gonna change? Maybe these people do just want to really destroy themselves. Maybe it is a losing battle."

"Is that you or that demon girl talking?"

"Oh, it's me. The demon is dead and so is that hot girl it was possessing."

"Well, had to be done. Sam was saving your life."

"Yeah, but you didn't see it, Bobby. It was cold. Ask Chris, she saw it too." Dean said, pausing for a moment. "Bobby."

"Yeah?" Bobby asked, stopping so that he could face him.

"Back in Wyoming, there was this moment… Yellow Eyes said something to me."

"What did he say?"

"That maybe when Sam came back from wherever that… maybe he came back different."

"Different how?"

"I don't know. Whatever it was, it didn't sound good. You think… You think something's wrong with my brother?" Dean asked hesitantly, worried.

"Nah. Demons lie. I'm sure Sam's okay." Bobby said, trying to reassure him, though Bobby seemed to be a little worried himself now.

"Yeah. Yeah, me too." Dean said, wishing he could believe what he was saying.

"Hey!" Chris shouted, making the two men jump. "What are you two standing in the middle of the street for? Come on, Dean—I've got a _big_ slice of lemon-meringue pie with your name on it!" She hollered from inside the door of the little café they were supposed to meet her at. A few passersby looked at her funny, but she didn't seem to mind. She just ignored them and kept on smiling that contagious little impish grin of hers. For someone with a fractured rib, she certainly was lively. Dean smiled and laughed as he shook his head. Chris always seemed to know just what to say to brighten up the mood. He didn't know what painkillers she was on, but he wanted some.

"Now we're talking! Come on, Bobby." He said, grinning, as he started moving forward once again. "We'd better get in there before Chris's perpetual case of the munchies gets the better of her, and she eats my pie."

"Don't let her hear you talk like that, or demons will be the least of your worries." Bobby told him, smiling slightly as he shook his head. These crazy kids… Well, at least Christine had managed to snap Dean out of his funk for now.

If only Sam's worries were so easily taken care of…

**Back at the hotel…**

Sam sighed as he tossed his backpack on the bed. He knew Chris meant well when she had called and invited them all to meet up with her for pie at some little café she had found, but he really didn't feel like celebrating at the moment.

He stopped packing when the doorknob turn, and the door slowly swung open as Ruby traipsed into their room.

"Leaving so soon? We haven't even had a chance to celebrate." She said coyly.

"Yeah, well, you can celebrate without me." He stated glumly.

"You're not gonna get all pouty on me now, are you?" Come on! You killed two demons today." She reminded him, smirking.

"Yeah, well maybe you don't care, but I killed two humans, too." He reminded her, swallowing. Even if he had seemed calm at the time, the guilt definitely was eating at him now.

"Sam, you know what happens when demons piggyback humans. They leave them rode hard and up wet. Chances are, those two would have died a slow, sticky death. You probably did them a favor."

"Did them a _favor_?" Sam asked incredulously. "You're a cold bitch, you know that?"

"Yeah, and this _cold bitch_… has saved your ass a couple of times now." Ruby reminded Sam as he turned his back on her. "Some _respect_ might be nice." She added while Sam carefully reached for the Colt, hoping she wouldn't see. "Especially, if you want me to help you out with _Dean_ and his little problem."

"You know, you keep dangling that, but last I checked, Dean's still going to Hell." Sam rounded on her, gripping the gun tightly as he held it by his side.

"Everything in its own time, Sam. But there's a quid pro quo here. We're in a war." She reminded him.

"Right. But for some reason, you're fighting on our team. Now tell me, why is that again?" Sam asked suspiciously.

"Go screw yourself, that's why."

"Oh, that's nice."

"I don't have to justify my actions to you, Sam. If you don't want my help, _fine._ Then give me the gun, and I'll pass it on to someone who will use it."

"Maybe I'll just use it on you." Sam said, raising the gun as he aimed it at her.

Ruby scoffed at him in disbelief. She stepped up to the gun so that it was touching her collar bone.

"Go ahead, if that makes you happy. It's not gonna do much for Dean, though." She said, raising her head slightly. "So, what's it gonna be? Hmm?"

Sam stared at her for a moment. He decided to lower the gun.

"Ah, that's my boy." She told him, smiling. "This won't be easy, Sam. You're gonna have to do things that go against that gentle nature of yours. There'll be collateral damage… but it has to be done."

"Well, I don't have to like it." Sam said somberly, turning his back on her again.

"No. You wouldn't be 'Sam' if you did." She remarked. "On the bright side, _I'll_ be there with you—that little fallen angel on your shoulder." Ruby told him, smirking.


	8. Nick Of Time1

I don't own Supernatural or any of the characters in it, but I do own my OC.

* * *

**_Chapter 8: Nick of Time—Part 1_**

* * *

**Several days later,**  
**Ridgeview, Ohio**

"Son of a bitch." Dean said, propping his head up on his hand while he leaned on the open window of the Impala's passenger seat. Chris sighed as she slumped in the backseat, shaking her head. Sam was driving… or at least, he would have been if they weren't currently being towed to the local auto-garage. "Sammy… you do realize that when the dial starts pointing to the 'E', it means it's time to _stop and get more gas_, right_!_?" Dean asked sarcastically, chagrined.

"Look, I said I'm sorry, okay. I don't know why I missed it—Maybe if you hadn't been yelling at Chris for letting Ruby use her blood the whole time, I wouldn't have been so distracted! Why are you even upset with her, anyway—You know we need the Colt, right?" Sam said moodily.

"Oh, so it's _my_ fault? And of course I'm upset—she let a _demon_ use her _blood _in some shady ritual for a powerful spell! What if there are weird side-effects or something_!_?" Dean countered.

"I already told you—I _checked_ all that _before_ I handed it over! I was desperate, not _stupid_, Dean." Chris snapped. "Now will you two shut up? We're pulling into the garage. The last thing we need is for these people to overhear us arguing about guns, demons, and blood."

"Good point." Sam said as he and Dean glanced around. This was a pretty small town, after all. It was quaint and charming… in its own rustic way. It seemed to still be relatively untouched by the any of the corruption of the distant town of Elizabethville that they had just come from, but it was so small, that they didn't even have a real gas station. Can you believe that?

"How long will it take?" Dean asked the tow guy, climbing out of the car once they had come close enough to a complete stop. He didn't like leaving his baby in the hands of strangers for too long, especially since they had an arsenal hidden in the trunk. That tended to freak people out and end with an extremely awkward and unnecessary phone call to the police.

"Well, like I told you, nobody stocks fuel pumps around town. I'll have to send into Dayton for it." The tow guy, whose nametag read 'Mac', explained patiently. He didn't blame Dean foe being nervous about parting with such a beautiful car. He was a fan of classics, too.

"Okay, how long will that take?" Sam asked.

"Oh, three—four hours. Better figure on four to play safe."

"Four hours_!_?" Dean exclaimed, gaping at the man in disbelief. It took them less than _half _that time to get there—and _Sam _had been driving part of the way!

"Crazy…" Chris said as she glanced warily between Dean and poor Mac, commenting on both the long delay and how on edge the elder Winchester brother looked.

"Uh… how about we get some supper?" Sam suggested cautiously. They were all starving since waiting for the tow truck had taken forever, so hopefully everyone would relax and calm down once they had some food in them.

"Supper? Why don't we just homestead." Dean replied sarcastically as he brushed passed him and started stalking off to find a decent place to eat. Sam sighed tiredly as he followed after his moody brother. To be honest, Sam was feeling a little on edge, too. Thanks to Ruby and Chris, they could actually use the Colt to kill demons again, but did Dean thank them? No. He had practically exploded once Chris told him what they had to do. Come to think of it, why did she even bother telling him? She hadn't looked the least bit surprised by his reaction, so she must have known he'd react like that…

"Sorry about that, it's been a long day." Chris told Mac, giving him an apologetic smile, before hurrying off to catch up to the boys. "So, see any good eatin' places?" She asked them.

"Well, we could check out that diner over there." Sam suggested, pointing to a little mom-and-pop joint across the street. From what they could see through the window, it still had all of its original décor from the '60s, but it looked clean and inviting.

"Looks friendly." Chris said, nodding in approval.

"They better have pie." Dean grumbled as they crossed the street.

He was not disappointed.

"Jackpot!" Dean said, grinning, when he saw the gorgeous pies being displayed on a rack just behind the counter. Sam just shook his head. He was so easy. Dean was ready to hop up on one of the barstools and order himself a slice of heaven before Chris grabbed his jacket sleeve.

"Hold it, cowboy. Eat something real first." She chided him.

"What are you, my mother? Dean asked, raising an eyebrow at her. Chris continued to stare at him and raised an eyebrow back.

"No, but I can still whip you, _boy_." She replied saucily.

"Ha, I'd like to see you try." Dean told her, smirking.

"I wouldn't." Sam deadpanned, cutting in before things could get ridiculous and the other customers started giving them awkward stares. "So, should we sit at the counter, or a booth?" It looked like there was only one waiter, and it seemed to be the kind of place where you just go ahead and seat yourself while you waited for the waiter, like at Waffle House.

"Booth." Chris said immediately.

"Oh, right, because you like your feet to touch the ground when you're eating." Dean said, smirking, even when she hit him in the arm for his wise-crack.

"Leave me alone, or this midget will kick your ass—terisk." She said, quickly censoring herself when they passed a booth that had children.

"Asterisk? That's a new one." Dean said, raising an eyebrow at her, as they slid into a corner booth in the back. "Hey, look! They have an old jukebox—wonder if they have anything worth playing in there..." Sam laughed.

"Hey, look at this." He said, patting the odd napkin dispenser on their table. It had a cheesy devil bobble head on top of it and there was a coin slot next to some worn labels. "The Mystic Seer." He read, raising an eyebrow. It appears that in addition to holding napkins, it could also tell your fortune for a penny. It had to be _ancient_ if it really still took pennies.

"Oh, that sounds fun. Let's try it." Chris said, smiling.

"You guys have a penny?" Dean asked. They might as well have a laugh since they didn't have to work for once.

"Yeah, I think so…" Sam said as he and Chris started checking their wallets. "What should we ask it?"

"I don't know."

"I've got it." Dean said, grabbing his penny. "Does anything exciting ever happen around here?" He asked the mystical napkin dispenser as he reached over Chris and inserted the coin. He pulled the little lever next to the slot.

"Huh." Chris said, amused, when a little card popped out of it at the bottom. She picked it up since she was sitting closest. "It is quite possible." She read aloud.


	9. Nick Of Time2

I don't own Supernatural or any of the characters in it, but I do own my OC.

* * *

**_Chapter 8: Nick of Time—Part 2  
_**

* * *

**Previously:**

_"I've got it." Dean said, grabbing his penny. "Does anything exciting ever happen around here?" He asked the mystical napkin dispenser as he reached over Chris and inserted the coin. He pulled the little lever next to the slot._

_"Huh." Chris said, amused, when a little card popped out of it at the bottom. She picked it up since she was sitting closest. "It is quite possible." She read aloud._

* * *

"Huh." Sam said. What a lucky coincidence.

"That thing is pretty good." Dean said, grinning in amusement. It was like a fortune cookie, only without the stale, factory-made cookie. Nice.

"Howdy." Their skinny and balding waiter said, giving them all a friendly smile, as he set down three water glasses for them.

"Hello." Sam and Chris returned his greeting politely.

"What'll it be?" The waiter asked.

"I'll have a bacon cheeseburger—extra bacon—and a beer." Dean said, flashing Chris a brilliant shit-eating grin when she raised an eyebrow at his heart attack on a bun.

"Well, I'll have the chicken-fried steak, with mashed potatoes and green beans, and a coke." Chris told the waiter, flashing Dean her own shit-eating grin.

"Oh, how long you two been married?" The waiter asked curiously.

"We're not." They replied instantly, before glancing back at each other a little strangely.

"Uh… I think I'll have a tomato and lettuce on whole wheat… and some iced coffee." Sam said, quickly, glancing between his older brother and unofficially adopted little 'sister'. _Awkward…_

"Uh-huh." The waiter said, obviously not believing them, despite their lack of wedding rings. It probably didn't help that they were sitting on the same side of the booth, though. "Anyway, son." He said, turning to Sam. "The little lady's got the right idea. I've got some _very_ good chicken-fried steak out there. Are you sure you wouldn't rather have that?"

"Um, no… thanks." Sam said.

"No?" The older man asked, giving him one last chance to change his mind.

"No." Sam said definitely, wondering why the old man was pushing the chicken-fried steak so much. He didn't say anything about Dean's cheeseburger.

"You finished with that?" The waiter asked, pointing to the menu.

"Uh, yeah." Sam said, handing it over. "Did I do something?" He asked the others, furrowing his brow slightly in confusion, as they watched the older man walk away with the menu to fill their orders.

"Okay, this place had better not be end up being like that town with the creepy flesh-eating scarecrow… _thing_." Dean said, lowering his voice as they all leaned in closer to the table.

"Wait, _what_?" Chris asked, furrowing her brow. Obviously Bobby had neglected to mention that one.

"These townspeople were feeding the couples that passed through to their pagan land god. It just happened to look like a scarecrow." Sam explained.

"Oh. Nice." Chris said, wrinkling her nose a little in disgust. "Can we not talk about human sacrifice at the dinner table, please?"

"Ugh." Sam said, grimacing, when he took a sip of his water.

"What, something wrong with the water, Sammy?" Dean asked.

"Oh, no, it's _grea_t." Sam said sarcastically. "He must have siphoned it out of a swamp." Chris giggled.

"Wow, thanks for the heads up. You know how picky I am about my water." She said, smiling wryly.

"Yeah, it's like an odd little tick of yours, isn't it?" Dean teased as he started digging in his pockets for something.

"What are you doing?" Chris asked him.

"Getting some pennies." Dean replied.

"What are you going to ask it now?" Sam asked.

"What else? Is there something wrong with this town?" Dean asked jokingly, tapping the bobble-head before popping in a penny and pulling the lever again. This time Sam picked up the card.

"Not this time." He read, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, well, that settles it then." Chris said humorously, smiling wryly, as she leaned her head on her hand.

"I just hope it's right." Dean said. "Because I am _not _running through some cornfield while being chased by some _thing_ that wants to rip out my intest—"

"Okaaay… What did I _just_ say? I don't want to hear this stuff when I'm expecting to eat soon." Chris said, cutting him off before he could get into the gory details, and it was none too soon, either, because their waiter was just returning with their food.

"Okie-dokie, folks… Here you… go." He said, setting out their plates and drinks. He could carry a lot at one time for someone who looked so frail.

"Thanks." Chris and Sam said, while Dean grinned and proceeded to dig into his large extra-bacon cheeseburger.

"Oh, this is _amazing._" He told the waiter, moaning in ecstasy. It was probably the best cheeseburger he had ever tasted!

"It looks and smells delicious." Chris said when she saw her chicken-fried seak, making a quick sign of the cross, before picking up her knife and fork. The waiter smiled at their enthusiasm, but it faded slightly when he turned to Sam.

"You ain't gonna like this as much as you would that chicken-fried steak." He told Sam, almost sounding as though he pitied him.

"I'll bear up." Sam said, blinking, as he smiled wryly with confusion. The waiter shrugged as if to say 'suit yourself' and walked off to take care of another table. "Okay, seriously—are you sure there isn't something going on here?" He asked the others once the man was out of earshot. Why was he the only one catching flack from the old man.

"Maybe he just thinks you look like an easy target?" Chris suggested, smiling wryly, as she pulled some more napkins from the dispenser and handed them to Dean. His cheeseburger was dripping with grease. "You know, that he was right. This is _really_ good chicken-fried steak." She said, smiling with satisfaction, when she tasted her first bite of it.

"Why don't you ask the napkin dispenser? That little devil's been pretty accurate so far." Dean suggested playfully. Personally, he liked the old man. He said 'howdy' _and_ 'okie-dokie'.

"Maybe I should ask why he didn't warn me that the whole wheat bread is stale while I'm at it." Sam said, scoffing, as he took a closer look at the worn labels on the dispenser. "Does he/she love me? Will I become rich?" He read aloud. "Is it _really _going to be four hours before we get out of here?" He asked dryly, inserting another penny and pushing down the lever.

"Good question. What's the answer?" Dean asked in between bites.

"You may never know..." Sam read from the card, furrowing his brow.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean asked.

"Who knows?" Chris said, shrugging, as she took another bite of chicken-fried steak.

"He does." Sam said, nodding at the bobble-head.

"Mm-hm, but it'll cost you another penny." Dean replied smartly.

"So? It's just a penny." Sam said a little defensively. "What do you mean, we may never know? No, wait—That's not a yes or no question—You mean, something will keep us from leaving, something will happen to us?" He asked, correcting himself, before pulling the lever. He picked up the card. "If you move soon." He scoffed, glancing up at Chris and Dean. "What's that mean?"

"Well, he's a mystic, Sammy. What do you expect?" Dean teased, smirking as he wiped his hands and tapped the bobble-head to send it nodding again.

"Yeah, this guy's basically just an automated fortune cookie. The answers are all pre-typed, it's just spitting them out at random." Chris said reasonably, watching as Sam frowned slightly and put in another penny.

"Just one more." He told her. "You mean we're not supposed to move?" he asked it. "We're supposed to stay here?"

"Just one question per penny, please." Chris teased playfully. Sam didn't seem very amused. He shook his head at her as he pulled the lever.

"That makes a good deal of sense." Sam read once he had the card. He put in another penny.

"I thought that was supposed to be the last one?" Dean reminded him. This wasn't turning into an addiction, was it?

"How long—No, uh… should we stay here until 7:30?" Sam asked, glancing briefly at his watch, before pulling the lever. "Try again." He put in another penny.

Chris and Dean glanced at each other, wondering if they should be worrying about Sam. He was starting to take this fortune-telling napkin dispenser a little too seriously.

"Should we stay in here until 8:00?" Sam asked again. He glanced up at them before reading the card. "There's no question about it."

"Um, Sam, why don't we all go have a look around town?" Chris suggested tactfully, thinking it was about time to get Sam away from the machine before he went all _Sound Of My Voice_ on them and started forming a cult around the thing.

"Every answer seems to fit." Sam said, glancing at the bobble-head.

"You're _joking_, right?" Dean asked, concerned. "I mean—Stop it, Sam." he snapped, reaching over to cover the coin slot with his hand, when Sam tried to insert yet another penny. Unfortunately, having to reach around Chris had slowed him down just a fraction of a second long enough for the coin to go in.

"If we don't stay here until 8:00, something bad will happen to us?" Sam asked, giving Dean a look, before he went ahead and pushed the lever despite the concerned expressions on his brother's and Chris's faces.

"Oh, come on, Sam…" Chris started to say, but he held the card out to her.

"Read it." Sam told her. She hesitantly took the card and glanced worriedly at Dean.

"Do you dare risk finding out?" She read, blinking. Well… that wasn't ominous at all, now, was it? She had to admit, it was a little uncanny, but Sam definitely needed to be separated from that thing before this turned into a neurosis. "Guys, let's just go."

"Well… I haven't finished my sandwich yet." Sam said, suddenly showing renewed interest in the stale bread with lettuce and tomato. "You know they had homemade ice cream on the menu, right, Chris? And, Dean, didn't you want some pie?"

"Well, you're not wrong about that." Dean said, watching as Sam glanced at his watch. He shared a look with Chris, who sighed as she slumped back in the booth. That was such a classic evasion, and they both knew it. Sam was clearly stalling for time. This was getting ridiculous! Even if it was true that they had encountered stranger things on hunts, they found it hard to believe a _napkin dispenser_ could really foresee the future…

Or maybe they just didn't _want_ to…


	10. Nick Of Time3

I don't own Supernatural or any of the characters in it, but I do own my OC.

* * *

**_Chapter 8: Nick of Time—Part 3  
_**

* * *

Chris glanced at the clock. It was 7:45pm, and she and Dean had already finished their desert long ago. And, yet, Sam seemed to be determined to keep them there until 8:00, because he had been eating his sandwich at a snail's pace, and then, he had ordered himself ice cream which he was eating so slowly, it was already half melted.

"Alright, cut the bullshit, Sammy. It's time to go." Dean said, standing up. Enough was enough. So what if it happened to get a few answers right? It was freakin' _napkin dispenser!_

"… All right." Sam reluctantly agreed after Chris and Dean both kept staring at him expectantly.

"Hey, can I have our check?" Dean asked the waiter, making a slight detour to the front counter so he could pay, while Chris herded Sam outside to wait for him _away_ from the mystical napkin dispenser.

"Alright, here you are." The man said, handing over their receipt so Dean could pay and sign for it.

"Here, keep the change." Dean told him, paying in cash for once.

"Well, thanks! And come on back, now." The old man said cheerfully, smiling at the tip.

"Say… have you heard anything from your customers about these napkin dispensers—anything strange, I mean?" Dean asked, pausing as he turned to leave. He hadn't noticed it when they were coming in, but there were actually several 'Mystic Seers' scattered throughout the diner on different tables.

"Strange? Like what?" The man asked, furrowing his brow slightly in confusion and concern. "Is one of them broken? I've had those things ever since I first opened this place, so I wouldn't be surprised if they were on their last leg…"

"Oh, no. It's nothing, nevermind." Dean said, backing off when he realized the man honestly didn't have a clue what he was talking about. If other customers were having the same weird and uncanny experience as Sam, then they must not have mentioned it to him.

"Ready?" Chris asked Dean when he joined them outside.

"Yeah, what now? There don't seem to be too many other places still open." Dean observed. This really was a small town. It wasn't even eight, and already a lot of the shops on the street had closed. There didn't seem to be too many people around, either.

"Hmm, well… maybe it won't take Mac four hours to fix the car... Why don't we go check?" Chris suggested while they crossed the street.

"You think?" Sam asked.

"Maybe." Dean said, shrugging. At least it would get them away from that diner and Sam's new obsession. The younger Winchester still didn't seem too happy about having to leave the diner before 8:00.

"Sam, you didn't really want to stay in there, did you?" Chris asked, concerned.

"No." Sam replied, not looking her in the eye.

"Sammy?" Dean asked, sensing a blip on his bullshit radar.

"Well, why was it so _specific_?" Sam pressed.

"Specific? Oh, _son _of _a_ bitch." Dean said, sighing in exasperation, as he ran a hand over his face. Great, his little brother was obsessed with a fortune-telling napkin dispenser!

"'If you move _soon_.' 'Try again.' 'There's _no_ question about it.' 'You may _never_ know.' 'Do you _dare risk_ finding out?'—Don't tell me that was all just a coincidence, Dean! What if it's like that rabbit's foot? What if _really _works?"

"Oh, you mean the one that was _cursed_?" Dean asked glibly. "Because _that_ turned out _so_ well for you, didn't it?"

"Look, guys, it's just a dinky little napkin holder in a little diner, in Ridgeview, Ohio, okay? I think we've all eaten enough Chinese food by now to know that was all just the usual vague, stereotypical, fortune cookie mumbo-jumbo. It just _happened_ to come out in an order that made sense." Chris pointed out reasonably.

"Oh, I know, I know… It's just—well, we've investigated cases based on less, so why can't you guys just admit there's even the _slightest_ possibility it might be the real deal?" Sam asked earnestly.

"_Enough,_ Sam—It's just a stupid napkin dispenser!" Dean snapped, wanting to end their ridiculous conversation. He turned the corner sharply and continued on ahead of them in the direction of the garage.

"It doesn't change the facts, though—six straight answers. _Six!_" Sam countered.

"Are you _still_ going on about that?" Dean asked incredulously, glancing back at them as he stepped into the road. "Just drop it alrea—"

"—_Dean!_" Chris screamed when a car came speeding through the red light.

_SCREEEEECH!_

The driver slammed on the breaks, but it was too late. They had already run straight through the crosswalk.

Thank _God _Sam and Chris had already yanked Dean back onto the safety of the sidewalk.

"S—hic—Shorryyy!" The drunk driver slurred, flopping their hand at them through the window in what was probably supposed to be a wave, before speeding off once again.

The three of them just sat there, right where they had all stumbled and fallen back onto the sidewalk, stunned. All of the crazy crap that they had been through, all the monsters that could have killed them… and Dean had almost been reduced to road kill by a _drunk driver_… in a town that was too small to even have a regularly stocked gas station…

_What the fuck!_?

"Son of a bitch!" Dean shouted.

"… Are you all right?" Sam asked.

"Yeah—No! That bastard nearly ran me over, and he just fucking drove off like it was nothing! If you hadn't pulled me out of the way of that car, I'd have been road kill!" Dean sputtered. He was _pissed._ That guy nearly sent him to Hell _way_ to far ahead of schedule—He still had too many things to do, places to go, and hot girls to do!

"He was drunk, Dean…" Sam pointed out, trying to calm him down.

"_So?"_ Chris asked sharply as she got to her feet, also pissed. "If an apology was enough, then there wouldn't be a need for the _police_, you _asshole_!" She shouted angrily after the car before pulling out her cellphone and dialing 911.

"Um, what are you doing…?" Sam asked warily. She looked like someone about to order a hit.

"Yeah, okay… Um, hello to you, too… Paula? Anyway, I'd like to report a drunk driver. Their license plate number is Echo–Lima–Charlie–8–1–3–2. Yes, I'm sure… Because he almost _ran us over_, that's how. They were totally smashed, and I think they might've been high, too, so be sure to frisk them and search their vehicle. Yeah, you do that. Have a nice night, Paula." Chris said crisply, hanging up. She had tried to be as polite to the receptionist as possible since it wasn't her fault that there was a maniac out on the road, but it was kind of hard of when she was already pissed and in pain—she was still getting over a fractured rib, for crying out loud—and the woman had kept asking if it was a prank call before finally deciding to take her word for it.

"That guy didn't look high to me." Sam said.

"Yeah, I know, but no one likes being frisked and having their car torn apart by cops." She stated coolly, flipping her phone shut.

"Nice." Dean said, smirking. "You know… I think I might love you."

"Don't fall for me, Dean. I'll only break your heart." She teased back.

"… Yeah, I _still_ can't believe you're a virgin." Dean said, shaking his head. She was too good at flirting, not to mention, too hot for that… If he didn't see her as a kid sister, he would _definitely _do her.

"Shut up about that! It's my choice, okay_!_?" Chris huffed incredulously, blushing out of embarrassment, as she gave him a kick in the butt. She really wished that she had been less specific when she recounted the incident with Ruby and the Colt now, but she knew it'd be better if he found out everything from her sooner, rather than later, which she knew he eventually _would_. That's usually how her luck went, so she figured she might as well get it over with instead waiting for it to come back and bite her in the ass twice as hard later.

"Hey, guys—look at _that_!" Sam said suddenly, pointing at the large, outdoor clock mounted on the old, iron post, just under the street light a couple of feet away.

"Yeah, so? It's a clock." Dean said, not seeing what the big deal was. Why was Sam so excited about an old clock?

"So, it's 8:00pm." He said meaningfully. Chris and Dean glanced at each other.

"And…?" She asked, blinking.

"_And_, that's when the Mystic Seer said something would happen, remember?" Sam explained, sighing impatiently. "That's when that car almost hit Dean—E_xactly_ when it said it would! Come on." He added, turning around heading back to the diner.

"Wait, you're not really going back there, are you?" Chris asked worriedly.

"I'll admit it was a strange coincidence, Sammy, but accidents happen." Dean said.

"Not to _us_—not when something like that fortuneteller is involved." Sam insisted stubbornly.

"Sam, _you_ said 8:00, not the machine." Chris reminded him. "And you never specified whether you meant 'am' or 'pm', either, so how do you know the machine didn't mean 8:00_ in the morning_ when it answered?"

"Besides, we only stayed here that late because of you—because _you_ decided to—It never would have happened if you hadn't been so worried about that stupid machine to begin with." Dean pointed out. He sighed tiredly. "This is freakin' ridiculous!"

"Sam, can't you see that _you_ made up all the details, and all that thing did was give back generalities?" Chris added, seconding that emotion. They were both _really_ worried about Sam, now. This was seriously in danger of becoming an obsession for him.

"What are you guys so upset about?" Sam asked, scoffing in disbelief. He really didn't see what their problem was. "… Don't tell me you're scared of it?"

"Not of_ it_." She corrected him, shaking her head.

"Of what then?" Sam asked.

"Isn't it obvious? _You._" Dean said plainly. "You won't even _consider_—"

"_No._ Don't you see? This machine is a gift—it's predicting our future for us! Do you really think I can just walk away from this?" Sam said anxiously.

"Look, Gollum—we're not talking about that machine anymore, we're talking about _you_!" Dean snapped. "Are you just gonna sit here and let that—_that thing_ run your life_!_?"

"Run my life_!_?" Sam asked with disbelief, but then he saw the looks on their faces and realized how seriously concerned and freaked they were for him. "What do you mean, 'run my life'?" He asked.

"Isn't that exactly what you're letting it do? Sam, it made you stay in the diner instead of leaving when we wanted to. It made you afraid to walk down the street! It doesn't matter whether it can foretell the future—What matters is if you believe more in luck and fortune than you do in yourself—you can make your own decisions!" Chris said earnestly. She sighed. She was starting to get the feeling this was about more than just a mystical napkin dispenser. "Sam… Why do you want so badly for it to be real?"

"Why?" Sam asked, scoffing. "Because—Because, what if that thing knows how to save Dean_!_?" He shouted seriously. Chris and Dean just stared at him, astonished.

"Sam…" Chris said softly, reaching out to him. Sam instinctively took a step back, just in case it was another one of her attempts to literally smack some sense into him.

"I-I suppose I'm just being stupid…" He said somberly.

"No, no…" Chris tried to reassure him. It all made sense now. She should have known that's what this was about. It's all Sam ever thought about these days, and it's all she ever thought about, too… Although, she wasn't quite desperate enough to turn to napkin dispensers for help, yet… "You're just—"

"Being stupid." Dean finished bluntly, earing himself a sharp look from Chris. "Look, Sam, even if there is a way to get me out of the deal—_without getting you killed_—You are _not_ going to get it out of a freakin' _napkin dispenser_! You're just _not_, okay_!_?" He said sternly.

"Uh… Sir?" Mac called out to Dean, getting their attention, as he walked towards them. Where did he come from? "Your car's ready. Got a lucky break, found a fuel pump right here in town. The last one they had, too. Figured you'd walk around for a couple hours before you finally came to the garage, so I come looking for you." Mac said, smiling proudly at his own resourcefulness.

"Oh… um, Thanks. We'll be right over." Dean told him, glancing at the others. At least now they could finally get the hell out of here.

"Uh, Dean, I need a moment with Sam… Why don't you go ahead with Mac and take care of the bill?" Chris asked, hoping Dean wouldn't fight her on this.

"Yeah, sure… Don't take too long." Dean said, looking between his brother and not-quite-adopted sister, before leaving to follow Mac to the garage. He wasn't sure why she wanted to talk to Sam alone, but he could tell she felt it was important.

"Look Sam, I get where you're coming from with this—I do." Chris said once she was sure Dean was out of range. "But there's grasping at straws, and then there's _grasping at straws_—Dean's right. Even if that thing does have the answers to our problems, it can only answer yes or no questions, right?"

"Yeah, so?" Sam asked, not seeing what her point was.

"_So,_ there's an _infinite_ number of possible questions you might have to ask it until it can give you enough answers to tell us what we want to know! What are you going to do, sit there and keep pushing pennies in it for the rest of your life? Dean only has ten months left—are you really going to spend valuable time we could be using to find more definitive leads on something that may or may not be able to tell you the answer in time? What if it gives you an answer you don't want to hear? Are you going to give up just because that thing tells you to? Or worse, what if it breaks? You saw how old that thing was—what if you're one question away from getting the answer to Dean's problem, and it just breaks down on you? I am _not_ letting you put yourself through that! If there's a way to fix this we'll find it ourselves—together, okay?" She said, practically _begging_ him to come back to his senses. "I _know _we'll find a way to save Dean somehow—but not here, not in that diner."

For a moment, Sam just stared at her, and Chris was afraid she still hadn't gotten through to him… but then he sighed tiredly and his shoulders slumped a little in defeat.

"All right, fine… you win, Chris. I'm sorry for scaring you." He said, finally realizing what a jerk he'd been after seeing how desperate she was for him. He hadn't realized how obsessed he had been in danger of becoming, but it was all starting to sink in now. They were right. He needed to take a step back, to get away from this thing. And it's not like the Mystic Seer was going anywhere… It would still be here if they changed their minds and decided to come back.

"Thank you…" Chris said, sighing with immense relief. "Now, let's get the hell out of here!" She said, grinning, as she hooked arms. She was beyond ready to put that creepy napkin dispenser in their rearview mirror.

–_–_–_–

**Meanwhile,  
Back in the diner…**

Only moments after our three heroes had left, a middle-aged couple entered the diner and made a beeline for their booth. The man already had a handful of pennies at the ready when they sat down, so he deposited one in the Mystic Seer without delay.

"Is it all right if we ask some more questions now?" The woman asked nervously, pushing down the lever. They didn't read the answer on the card out loud, but they sighed in relief when they saw it, so it must have been in their favor. The man put in another penny.

"Do you think we might finally leave Ridgeview today?" The man asked hopefully, pulling the lever. His wife let out a soft sob when they saw the answer on the card, and the man quickly put in another penny. "Is there anyway out—any way at all_!_?" He asked anxiously, pulling the lever. Any hope he had left died when he saw the Mystic Seer's answer.

Counterbalance in the little town of Ridgeview, Ohio.  
Two people permanently enslaved by the tyranny of fear and superstition, facing the future with a helpless dread.  
Three others facing the future with confidence, having escaped thanks to a firm belief in themselves, each other, and their ability to decide their own fate for themselves.

… Let us hope that we should all be so lucky.

* * *

**Author's Note:** As I'm sure any fellow _Twilight Zone_ fan has probably already noticed, for the title of these last few chapters, I used the title belonging to one of the series' original episodes of the same name, as I borrowed heavily from it's classic plot of suspense and superstition. I hope my adaptation for _Supernatural _was as enjoyable to read as Rod Sterling's original story.


	11. Bedtime Stories1

I don't own Supernatural or any of the characters in it, but I do own my OC.

* * *

**_Chapter 11: Bedtime Stories—Part1_**

* * *

**October 24, 2007  
Maple Springs, NY**

A large bullfrog croaked as it sat on the side of a lonely highway, listening to the chirping crickets and other insects of the night, his prey.

And then the frog's brief moment in the spotlight was ruined when a certain '67 Impala came speeding through. It hit a puddle, spraying the dark, murky water all over, as the poor thing hopped out of the way, just in time. The bullfrog watched as the people in the car continued to race off into the night, oblivious.

"I don't understand, Dean. _Why not?_" Sam asked for what felt like the hundredth time.

"Because I said so." Dean replied. He had hoped Sam would have dropped it by now, but no—Now he seemed more determined than ever to break the deal, and Chris's supportive attitude definitely wasn't helping, but at least she was yelling in his ear about it. In fact, she had been napping in the backseat until Sam suddenly felt the need to step on this conversational landmine again.

"Look, putting aside that thing back in Ridgeview—We've got the Colt now!" Sam persisted, unwilling to back down.

"_Sam."_ Dean said warningly.

"We can summon the crossroads demon, pull the gun on her and _force_ her to let you out of the deal!" Sam continued stubbornly.

"We don't even know if that would work!" Dean countered.

"Well, then we'll just shoot her! If she dies, the deal goes away!"

"We don't know if that'll work either, Sam." Chris chimed in. If she was awake, she might as well participate, right?

"Whose side are you on_!_?" Sam demanded, staring at her incredulously.

"My side— the side of _reasonable_ action!" She countered defensively. "We can't just go in guns blazing, Sam—what if killing her just gets _you_ killed, too?"

"Thank you!" Dean shouted in agreement, glad that at least one of them was actually using their head. "Right now, you're just pitching me a bunch of 'ifs' and 'maybes', and that's not good enough—because if we screw with this deal, _you die!"_

"And if we don't screw with it, _you die!"_ Sam shouted angrily.

"Oh my God—_Nobody's going to die, okay!_?" Chris shouted, annoyed with all the pessimism and testosterone in the air.

"Sam, _enough_! I'm _not _gonna have this conversation!" Dean shouted sternly.

"Why, because you _said so!_?" Sam asked, scoffing.

"Yes, because _I said so!_" Dean shouted.

"Well, you're not Dad!" Sam snapped.

They all froze, and for a moment, the car was so completely silent for once that you could have heard a pin drop. That had been a pretty low blow, and even Sam was starting to regret saying it.

"No." Dean said finally, breaking the silence. "But I _am_ the oldest—and I'm doing what's _best_. Now you've got to let this go, you understand me? _Both_ of you." Sam didn't argue back this time, but he refused to look at Dean. Chris wisely kept her mouth shut, too. It was obvious that neither of them was letting this go, but at least everyone had stopped yelling, for now.

"… Tell us about the psychotic killer." Dean said, deciding to start a new topic before an uncomfortably awkward silence could set in. "Come on, Sam. Tell us about that psychotic killer you found." It had been months since they had a real case, but this one sounded promising.

Sam sighed, but he pulled the article out anyway and read a quote from it out loud for them.

"'The psychotic killer… rips victims apart with brute-like ferocity.'" He read dryly, not in the mood. He still wasn't quite over their argument yet, being the most sensitive of the three.

"Okay… any mention of his razor-sharp teeth, his four inch claws, or animal eyes?" Chris asked, already moving on from their blowout. She decided not to worry about it since she planned to keep doing whatever she wanted to anyway. If Dean didn't like it, tough. They'd cross that bridge when they got to it.

"No." Sam said quietly. "But the lunar cycle's right. Look, if it is a werewolf, we won't have long. Moon's full this Friday, and that's the last time it changes for month."

"Two days. No sweat." Dean said.

–_–_–_–

**The next day…**

"I'm Detective Plant. This is Detective Page and Detective Jones." Dean stated matter-of-factly, while all three of them flashed their fake badges at the only surviving victim, Kyle… _something_, while the poor guy lay in his hospital bed. "We're with the County Sheriff's Department."

"Yeah, I've been expecting you." The man said tiredly, though he hadn't really expected for there to be three of them.

"You have?" Dean asked, a little taken aback. No one ever expected them… They were like the Spanish Inquisition.

"All morning." The guy said, glancing between the three 'detectives'. "You _are_ the sketch artists, right?"

"… Uh." Sam said, glancing back at the others.

"Absolutely." Chris stated confidently, figuring they might as well go with it.

"Yeah." Sam said quietly, pretending to clear his throat, before smiling a little awkwardly at the expectant man.

"Yeah. That is exactly who my partner, Detective Page, is." Dean said, pointing to Sam. "The things he can do with a pen." Dean chuckled, earning a sharp look from Sam, while Chris tried to keep a straight face. "But listen, before we get started on that, I wanted to ask you, uh… How'd you get away?"

"I-I have no idea." The man said, frowning slightly, as he shook his head. "I was hiding, and he found me. He was coming right for me, and then he just… stopped. Stared at me with this blank look… after that, he just took off running."

"Okay." Sam said as the three of them exchanged a glance. "Um, I'm going to need as much physical detail as you can remember." He said, pulling out his small notepad and pen so he could take notes and pretend to sketch.

"Uh yeah. Um, he's about six feet tall…"

"Six feet…"

"Dark hair."

Dean tried to sneak a peek at Sam's sketch. Chris didn't bother since she was too short to see from her angle.

"Was his hair long or short?" She asked, earning a glance from the boys. What? Even if they weren't real sketch artists, details mattered, right? How else were they supposed to find a needle in a haystack?

"Uh… It was short, really short."

"Uhm, what—what about his eyes? What color eyes did he have?" Sam asked, looking up at him.

"Maybe… blue?"

"Blue?"

"It was dark."

"Did they seem…" Dean asked, clearing his throat. "Uh, animal-ish?"

"Excuse me?" Kyle asked, thinking he had to have misheard that.

"What about his teeth?" Sam asked quickly to divert attention from Dean's odd question. "You notice anything… strange about them?" Now it was Sam's turn to receive an odd look from the man.

"You know, like braces, visible fillings, crooked teeth… maybe some of them might have even looked a bit sharper than normal?" Chris suggested, trying to sound reasonable, but Kyle was already shaking his head.

"No, they were just teeth."

"Teeth. Okay." Sam said, smiling wryly, as he made some adjustments to his 'sketch'.

"How about his fingernails?" Dean asked.

"Were they on the long or short side?" Chris added.

"Okay, look—He–He's just a-a normal guy, with normal eyes and—a-and teeth and fingernails!"

"Look, sir. It's okay—" Sam started, but Kyle wasn't having it.

"No. _No._ Those were my brothers." Kyle said, his voice breaking. "This guy… he _killed_ my brothers. How would you feel?"

That gave them all pause.

"Horrible…" Chris said grimly after a pause, swallowing thickly, as she remembered how she had lost her own family to violent psycho in the past. She was surprised her own voice managed not to break. Sam nodded.

"Can't imagine anything worse." He agreed solemnly, knowing exactly how the man must feel. Dean glanced at the two of them briefly, before getting back to business.

"I know this isn't easy, but if you could remember any more details…" Dean asked.

"Th-There was one more thing. He had a-a tattoo on his arm of a cartoon character. It's, uh…" Kyle said, sighing with exasperation as he tried to remember what it was called. "Uh, it's the guy who—he's always chasing the Roadrunner!"

"The coyote?" Chris asked. Though, for the life of her, she just couldn't remember the thing's name at the moment…

"Wile E. Coyote!" Dean said excitedly, happy to get an answer that neither Sam nor Chris seemed ready to supply for once.

"Yeah, that's it." Kyle said, nodding.

"Kyle?" An older, middle-aged doctor asked, concerned, as he entered the room.

"Dr. Garrison." Kyle greeted him.

"How you holding up?" Dr. Garrison asked.

"Okay, considering…" Kyle replied, glancing at the so-called detectives. At least they seemed to be genuinely sympathetic after he reminded them of what he had just been through.

"You're, uh, Kyle's doctor?" Dean asked.

"Yes." Dr. Garrison said, clearly wondering why they where there. Dean and Chris held up their badges. Sam's hands were full with the pen and notepad.

"Mind if we just ask you a few questions?" Chris asked.

"Sure." The doctor replied, nodding. He gave Kyle a reassuring pat on the shoulder before he left the room with Dean and Chris, leaving Sam alone in the room with Kyle.

"Don't I get to see it?" Kyle asked when Sam turned to leave, pointing at his notepad.

"Uh..." Sam stammered, laughing nervously, as he glanced at his 'sketch'. "Yeah, yeah. Uhm ,yeah it's a, you know…work in progress." He kind of mumbled towards the end as he handed it over. Kyle stared at it for a moment, not quite sure what to make of the badly drawn picture that was supposed to be the man he had just described… it looked like a kindergartner had drawn it…

"Hm. It-It's really… huh." Kyle said, glancing between the sketch and Sam, while he tried to find some kind words to describe it.

Yeah, he had nothin'.


	12. Bedtime Stories2

I don't own Supernatural or any of the characters in it, but I do own my OC.

* * *

**_Chapter 12: Bedtime Stories—Part 2_**

* * *

They had left the hospital shortly after questioning Dr. Garrison, and Chris could have sworn she heard a bullfrog croaking nearby as they walked down the street. She gave up her search for the frog when Dean laughed, cracking up after seeing Sam's sketch.

"Heheh. Boy, this is a piece of, uh,_ art_. Really." Dean said, grinning as he showed it to Chris. "Check it out."

"_Wow_… how… _avant-garde_..." Chris said, smiling wryly as she tilted her head and squinted her eyes, trying to make it seem more human somehow… maybe if she blurred her vision enough… "Reminds me of one of Jack's drawings..."

"Who's Jack? Another one of your interesting neighbors with something like the map to the lost city of Atlantis hidden in their closet?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No, he was one of the patients that I use to have group art therapy with back in the nut house." Chris said, smiling a brilliant shit-eating grin.

"Oh, well, isn't that special. Did you hear that, Sammy?" Dean asked, now sporting his own shit-eating grin.

"Yeah, like either of you could've done any better." Sam said, snatching the notepad back from Dean. "So, what did the doc have to say about Kyle's brothers?"

"Not much. They were D.O.A. at the scene. He did give us the lowdown on the coroner's report." Dean told him.

"Lemme guess, their hearts were missing." Sam said dryly.

"Nope." Chris said, sighing. "But chunks of their kidneys, lungs, and intestines were."

"That's just gross." Sam said, wrinkling his nose slightly.

"Yeah, also definitely not werewolf behavior." Dean added.

"So, what are we dealing with here? Hannibal Lecter?" Chris asked. "Because if the culprit's just a _human_ psychopath, then we should probably leave this to the police." Although, she wouldn't mind kicking this creep's ass for what he did to Kyle's family. Yellow Eyes might have been a demon, but whether the culprit was demon or human—it didn't make losing your family to a violent killer any easier. _No one _should be allowed to get away with doing something like that.

"Maybe it's a demon? Attacker could have been possessed." Sam suggested.

"Why would a demon stop halfway through an attack?" Dean asked, glancing at him.

"I think that, uh.. Coulda... Yeah, I got nothin'." Sam admitted, drawing a blank.

"Me, neither." Chris added rather unhelpfully.

Dean just sighed and shook his head as they continued their walk.

–_–_–_–

It was bright and sunny, beautiful day—perfect for a couple's hike through the woods… At least, that's what this couple had thought when they first started out…

"Man, I am starving." The guy said, digging through his backpack while they walked. "Hey, where are all the Power Bars?"

"You ate them all. And we're lost." The girl told him, shaking her head.

"We're not lost! The path is…right here." The guy said, losing a little of his conviction when he realized the path was getting more and more twisted and overgrown. It certainly didn't look like part of the well marked, wide, and regularly cleared path they had started out on… not that he would at admit it out loud.

So, the couple continued to walk on, hoping they might get lucky and stumble back onto the right path or run into someone who had much better sense of direction and could point them back to civilization.

"Ow." The girl said, annoyed when one of the branches got her. Yeah, she would not be hiking again anytime soon, not without a working GPS to save them from her hubby's rotten sense of direction and inability to ask for directions. She sighed tiredly, but felt a bit of hope when they finial came upon a break in the trees.

"Look, there." The guy said, pointing at the quaint little house in the clearing. There was smoke rising out of the chimney, so someone had to be home.

"Oh, civilization." She said elatedly, sighing with relief.

"Yeah." He replied a little curtly, not amused. He felt her obvious show of relief was a little over the top. They were lost in rural New York, not the Ozarks.

"Thank God!" She said, smiling, as she followed him closer to the house the path had opened up nice and wide now, so she didn't have to worry about running into anymore branches at least. The front door opened and a cheerful little old lady stepped out, using a cane for support.

"Are you two doing okay?" She called out to them from her porch.

"Hi! Actually, we're, uh—" The guy started to say, laughing a little awkwardly, as he gave the old lady a friendly smile.

"Lost." The girl chimed in, also smiling. she raised her eyebrows slightly at he hubby when he glanced back at her. If he didn't like having to say it, he shouldn't have gotten them lost in the first place.

"Oh, it happens. The trail gets twisty and my house is the only one left up here." The old lady said pleasantly, full of understanding. "Um… I _could_ point you in the right direction, but I'm afraid it'll take a while to get back." She noticed the man was eyeing the pie she had set out on the windowsill to cool. "You're _really_ deep into the woods." She added, concerned for their safety, and smiled sympathetically.

"Nice work, Ken." The girl teased him, clapping him on the back.

"Would you like to come in and rest a bit?" The old lady asked, smiling kindly at them. They looked so tired and hungry standing there.

"Um, yeah." The guy said, pleasantly surprised by her kind offer. Maybe he might even be able to get a slice of that delicious looking pie… His mouth was already watering from the smell _alone_.

"Thanks, but we should head back." The girl refused politely. She didn't want to intrude on the nice woman, and it was getting pretty late in the day. She did _not_ want to be hiking back along a twisty and overgrown trail at night, especially when they didn't even have flashlights on them since they had only expected to be out there for part of the afternoon. Besides, wasn't it a little strange for such a defenseless looking old lady to welcome two strangers in her home? Not that they were, but what if she and her husband had secretly been crazed axe-murderers…?

"Oh come on honey, she offered." Her husband said aloud, before lowering his voice. "She's a harmless old lady what could happen?" He asked, winking, as he stepped onto the porch and smiled at the sweet old woman as she let him into her house. She still wasn't sure this was the best idea, but the old woman smiled sweetly at her, so she pushed aside her worries and smiled as she joined her husband inside.

He was right. She was just being paranoid. This woman was just a sweet and charitable old lady who needed a cane to get around.

There was no reason to be nervous, right?

–_–_–_–

The man had gotten his wish. After welcoming them inside, the old woman had generously offered to share her freshly-baked pie with them, and invited them to sit down at her table with her while they ate. She even let him have multiple helpings!

"You sure you don't want more?" The old lady asked sweetly.

"No, thank you it's, uh, uhm…" He said, frowning slightly as his stomach growled. "I'm full."

"We should go." His wife said, concerned when she noticed how uncomfortable he looked.

"Mmhm." The old woman hummed, nodding.

"We really can't thank you enough." His wife told her, smiling, as he got up from the table. He grunted and grabbed the chair for support, but the pain was too much. His knees buckled and he hit the floor with a thud, groaning and gasping in pain.

"Ken?" She asked worriedly.

"Ju-Julie!" He managed to choke out in his pain.

_What happened!_? _What was wrong with him!_?

Julie's mind was racing as she got up to help him, but then she too felt an intense wave of pain come over her, and she groaned in pain as she fell to her knees.

"Ah! Ah-Ah! What's going on_!_?" She cried out in pain and confusion. What was wrong with the old lady? How could she just sit there and watch all this with that same, sweet smile on her face_!_?

"_Julie!"_ Ken cried, worriedly. No—not her, too!

"Did you... _drug _us…?" Julie asked the old lady when her vision quickly started to blur, appalled at the sudden and horrible realization that the little old lady had to be behind it. They had been perfectly fine until they had eaten her pie…!

The old lady just continued to smile as she, too, got up from the table and took a large carving knife from the dish rack by her sink. She checked its sharpness with her thumb and smiled with satisfaction before she turned around to face them again. Julie started to whimper, afraid for herself and her husband.

"Julie, run!" Ken gasped. He at least wanted her to be able to get away, but it was no good. Neither of them could move—they were paralyzed with pain, and completely at this madwoman's mercy.

"Stop._ Please_, you have to _stop_." Julie sobbed while the old lady stalked closer, looming ominously over them. The blade of the clean knife gleamed coldly in the light of her cozy little home while the poor couple cowered in fear on the floor, completely helpless to save themselves. She couldn't believe this was really happening—she had to be dreaming, right? This had to be a nightmare—_it just had to be!_

"Don't worry. Everything's fine." The old lady told Ken, smiling. "You just hold still now dear." She added as she raised the knife. Her smile morphed into a wicked grin as she slashed at Ken with the knife.

_SLIIIICE—_SPLAT!

Julie screamed in horror when she felt her husband's warm blood splatter onto her face, cruelly reminding her that this was not a nightmare. _This was really happening to them_.

The old lady laughed, changing her grip on the knife, before continuing to leisurely stab poor Ken repeatedly, over and over again, while poor Julie had to watch. She never stopped screaming.

"_No! Stop! Stop! Please, stop! Why are you doing this!_?_ Nooooo!"_

Meanwhile, a little girl with long black hair in a white dress, red sash and red headband had appeared just outside the window, watching. Observing. She smiled slightly as the old woman continued to stab Ken, even though he was already long dead.

"_Noooo!"_ Julie wailed in agony and desperation.

–_–_–_–

Dean glanced around while he, Sam, and Chris, once again walked through the actually rather busy halls of the local hospital. They must get a lot of patients from the nearby town, too. But that was beside the point. They were here to talk to the latest surviving victim, Julie Watson… whom the real authorities seemed to have gotten to first, since they were now coming out of her room, headed straight in their direction. The three hunters, who were once again in their fed/detective suits, took this as their cue to oh so _casually _turn to face the counter at the nurse's station they were passing and pretended to find a vase of flowers they had out fascinating, angling themselves so that their faces wouldn't be clearly visible while two Sheriff's deputies passed them by and disappeared around the corner. They were a little more cautious as they continued to make their way towards Julie's room, making sure more cops weren't going to pop up and demand to see identification. Their fake badges might easily fool civilians, but that wasn't always the case with the sharper tools of authority.

"Please, please." They heard Julie pleading through the open door.

"Shh. Hey, we need to observe you while the drugs still may be in your system." Dr. Garrison told her, trying to calm her down and keep her from putting too much strain on herself. It was far too soon for her to be out of bed. She had been through a lot and really needed to let her body rest more.

"I have to go. I have things to do, arrangements I need to make!" She sobbed, understandably distressed after the terrible ordeal she had just been through.

"It can wait. Now you need to rest. Stay." The doctor told her patiently. He knew what it was like to lose a loved one, and she was clearly still in shock. Poison aside, she shouldn't be alone right now. Even being stuck in a hospital would be better than having to face planning her husband's funeral alone, so soon after his death. She needed rest in place where she could feel safe, where she knew there was security to watch over her. "Be back in a few minutes." He said, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder before turning to leave. Dr. Garrison sighed when he saw who was waiting for him at the door.

"Detectives." He greeted them tiredly.

"Dr. Garrison." Dean replied, returning his greeting.

"What the hell is going on here? My whole town is going insane." Dr. Garrison asked, concerned.

"We'll let you know as soon as we do." Sam told him. Dr. Garrison sighed and shook his head as he brushed passed them and left. The three of them exchanged a brief look with each other before proceeding into the room. "Ms. Watson? Hi." Dean greeted the poor woman as they approached her bed. "We just need to ask you a few questions." He said while all three of them showed her their badges.

"Do we have to go over this again, _now_?" She asked, sniffling.

"We'll try to be brief." Chris said sympathetically, handing her a tissue from the box on the table near her bed.

"Ms. Watson, can you tell us how you got away?" Sam asked firmly, but gently. The poor woman was already in tears, and they didn't want to upset her even more.

Julie nodded as she accepted the tissue from Chris.

"I didn't eat as much as Ken did, so I wasn't as out of it. And, when the old woman was..." Julie explained, pausing for a moment when her voice broke, wishing she didn't have to go through this again. "… carving up Ken, I shoved her and she fell, cracked her head on the stove." She paused again, and glanced hesitantly between them before asking, "She's dead, right? I-I killed her?"

"Do you have any idea why she would do this to you?" Dean asked.

"No! One minute she was a sweet old lady and the next she was, like, a monster."

"Can you remember anything else?" Chris asked after giving her a brief moment to calm down a little.

"Um, yeah." She said, furrowing her brow slightly as she sniffed. "Did you find a little girl there, by any chance?" She asked, concerned.

"A little girl? At the house?" Sam asked, glancing at the others. They hadn't heard anything about a child being found.

"I thought I saw her outside the window." Julie continued. "S-She just disappeared. Just vanished, into thin air."

They all looked at each other. Well, maybe this was their kind of case, after all.

"It m-must've been the drugs." Julie said dismissively. Why—_How_ could any child have just stood there so calmly and watched while a gruesome murder took place, let alone vanish into thin air?

"This disappearing girl… what'd–what did she look like?" Dean asked.

"Does it matter?" Julie asked. Wasn't it just a hallucination?

"Yes, every detail matters." Chris said, nodding encouragingly. Julie sighed.

"She had this dark, dark hair and _really_ pale skin. She was around eight." Julie said, glancing up at them. "She was a _beautiful_ child, it was... _odd_ to see her in the middle of something so horrible." Sam furrowed his brow slightly as something about her description struck a chord with him.

He had a feeling he might be starting to get a handle on what was happening to the people in this town.

–_–_–_–

**The Old Lady's House…**

"Well, there's no sulfur anywhere, how about the EMF?" Dean asked while they poked around the crime scene, looking for any signs that might indicate something supernatural was afoot.

"Yeah, it's going _nuts_. Right over here by the window. There's definitely a spirit here." Sam said.

"Who stood outside the crime scene and watched?" Chris asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Looks like." Sam said, double-checking the pulsating EMF that was lit up like a Christmas tree.

"What the Hell do you make of that?" Dean asked, furrowing his brow.

"Actually, I do have a theory. Uh, sorta." Sam said, kind of wondering if he was going to end up regretting this. He glanced at Chris, hoping she might be on the same train of thought as him, so she could save him the trouble by being the one to say it.

"Don't look at me." She said, raising her hands. "I've sorta got one too, but it's nuts."

"Well, what are you waiting for? Hit me." Dean said, waiting for one of them to just spit it out. Something was better than nothing at this point, right?

"Well, thinkin' about fairy tales." Sam said, giving his older brother a shit-eating grin. He might as well get it over with. Chris raised her eyebrows slightly in surprise, and Dean paused in what he was doing, glancing up his younger brother. Yeah, Sam was serious.

"Oh that's–that's nice. You think about fairy tales often?" Dean asked, wondering if this was Sam's way of coming out of the closet. Sam sighed in exasperation.

"No, Dean I'm pretty sure he's talking about the murders. I was actually thinking the same thing." Chris said, smiling apologetically at Sam. Looks like she should have just gone ahead and said it after all, but she had been hoping Sam might've been able to come up with a theory that had a little less fairy dust on it.

"_Yes,_ thank you, Chris!" Sam said, glad he had someone to back him up on this. A guy and a girl? Hiking through the woods, an old lady tries to eat 'em? That's _Hansel and Gretel_. Then we got three brothers arguing over how to build houses, attacked by the Big Bad Wolf."

"Three Little Pigs." Dean said, catching on.

"Yep." Chris said, nodding in agreement.

"Actually, those guys were a little chubby. Well, wait. I thought those things ended with uh, everyone living happily ever after?" Dean pointed out

"Oh-ho-ho—No, no!" Chris jumped in, laughing sardonically, as she shook her head. "Not the originals. The Grimm brothers' stuff was kind of like the folklore of it's day—full of sex, violence, and cannibalism. These tales were originally meant for adults and told around the fire after a hard day's work… though why they found telling tales that would make most shrinks want to commit the person who thought them up wear a straight jacket relaxing, I'll never know."

"Right, and then it got sanitized over the years, turned into Disney flicks and bedtime stories." Sam said.

"Even the Grimm versions, as dark as they are, had already been cleaned up some. I guess they realized marketing them for both adults _and_ children was more profitable." Chris added, shrugging.

"So, you think the murders are uh, what? A re-enactment? That's a little crazy." Dean said, still skeptical. How did they even know all this crap in the first place?

"Crazy as what? Every day of our lives?" Sam asked, smiling wryly.

"We've seen crazier in Florida." Chris added.

"Touché." Dean said, blinking. He had to admit, they had a point there. "How's the creepy ghost girl involved?"

"Uhm, well, she must've been here for a reason." Sam said thoughtfully.

"Wanna bet she was at the construction site too?" Chris asked.

"We gotta do research now, don't we?" Dean asked regretfully.

Chris and Sam just shrugged as they grabbed their gear and started walking out of the house. They could say no, but then they'd be lying. Dean closed his eyes in disappointment.

Damn. He really hated doing research on stuff like this…


	13. Bedtime Stories3

I don't own Supernatural or any of the characters in it, but I do own my OC.

* * *

**_Chapter 13: Bedtime Stories—Part 3  
_**

* * *

Dean exhaled as he exited the Cumberland County Central Library. He had just spent the last six hours looking into his assigned part of the research while Sam and Chris were off sifting through lore and history for info the more abstract details on this case in hopes of finding out what kind of entity they were dealing with, why it was acting up, and how to stop it.

"So?" Sam asked as he and Chris walked up to join him for their little show and tell meeting. Whatever Dean had found, he didn't look too happy about it.

"Checked every record they had. Found the usual amount of violent childhood deaths for a town this size." Dean told him while they crossed the street and walked entered the local park together.

"Okay… Care to elaborate on that?" Chris pressed, hoping for a more detailed explanation.

"Wanna know how many how many were little girls with black hair and pale skin?" Dean asked.

"Zero." Sam guessed. So, it wasn't that Dean didn't like what he had found, he didn't like what he _hadn't_.

"Zero!" Dean confirmed loudly as they entered the park. "You wanna know how many how many little girls with black hair and pale skin that have gone missing?

"Zero." Chris guessed again.

"Right _again._ Zip. zilch, nada. So, tell me you've got something good 'cause I've _totally_ wasted the last six hours."

"Well, you ever hear of Lillian Bailey? She was a British medium from the 1930s." Chris asked. She understood why he seemed so agitated, now. He had spent all that time stuck in a library and sifting through all those records, and he had nothing to show for it. Although, looking at from another angle, at least now they knew that they had been barking up the wrong tree with that one, so it hadn't really been for nothing. They could at least narrow down their list of suspects now.

"She got a thing for fairy tales?" Dean asked.

"No, trances. See she'd go into these unconscious states where, uhm—get this—her thoughts and actions were _completely controlled by spirits_." Sam explained.

"Like a ghost puppet master?" Dean asked.

"Yeah." Sam said. That was actually a pretty good way of describing the phenomena.

"Basically." Chris agreed.

"You think that's what this kid is doing? Sending wolfboy and grandma into trances, making them go kill-crazy?" Dean asked a little skeptically.

"Could be. You know, kinda like a spirit hypnosis or somethin'." Chris said.

"Trances I get, but fairy tale trances? That's bizarre even for us." Dean said.

All three of them stopped when they heard a loud croaking sound. They looked down. It was a bullfrog… The very same one that had been on the highway the night they had arrived… not that anyone of them really knew that, since they hadn't seen it in the first place. But there it was, this large bullfrog, just sitting in their path… croaking. Chris could've sworn it was staring at them with a less than friendly look in its eyes, but maybe all this fairy tale talk was just starting to get to her.

"Yeah, you're right. That's completely normal." Sam remarked a little sarcastically. He felt like the frog had singled them out for some reason, too.

The bullfrog continued to croak again and again.

"What is this supposed to be… _The Frog Prince_?" Chris asked. She could've sworn it was a Pixie too—you know, the African bullfrogs some people keep as exotic pets? Maybe it was someone's escaped pet… but it was still weird that it had singled them out when there were plenty of other people in the park at this time of day.

"Alright, maybe it is fairy tales. Totally _messed-up_ fairy tales." Dean conceded as they all stared down at the frog. "I tell you one thing, there's _no_ way I'm kissing a damn _frog_." He said firmly.

"I second that emotion." Chris stated. "Wait, why would _you_ have to kiss it?"

"Hey, check that out." Sam said suddenly, pointing to a house across the street that had a pumpkin out on the porch.

"Yeah? It's close to Halloween." Dean reminded him.

"Oh, awesome. I almost forgot." Chris said, smiling. She liked Halloween. It meant candy and parties galore.

"What? Don't you remember Cinderella?" Sam asked, surprised Chris didn't see it. "The pumpkin that turns into a coach and the mice that become horses?"

"Ah." Chris said, finally getting it when a mouse scurried across the porch, too. Both those things in one place was pretty suspicious, considering the kind of case they dealing with.

Dean's eyes widened slightly as he turned to look his brother.

"Dude, could you _be_ more gay?" He asked. I mean, come on—He got that before the designated _girl_ in their group could!

Sam glanced at Dean, wondering how he should respond to that.

"Don't answer that." Dean said immediately. He really didn't want to know the answer to that.

"Yeah, you'll only dig yourself into a deeper hole." Chris warned Sam, smiling wryly.

The frog croaked again, as though in agreement with her.

–_–_–_–

SCRITCH-SCRATCH—CLICK!

The door creaked a little when Chris slowly pushed it open once she had quickly succeeded in picking the lock while Sam and Dean covered her and kept a lookout. They glanced around, searching for any signs of life as the three of them cautiously stepped inside.

"Doesn't look like anyone's home…" Chris observed. The house was way too quiet and none of the lights were on.

"Well, who knows, maybe you'll find your fairy godmother." Dean teased Sam, flashing him a patronizing smile, before they all split up to continue their search. They could cover more ground that way.

But then they all heard some kind of rattling noise coming from further within. Chris, Sam, and Dean exchanged a glance before drawing their guns. Sam took point and Chris followed while Dean closed the door. They continued their search.

There was another noise. Dean motioned for Sam to head toward it. He and Chris followed close behind, ready to back him up.

"Help I'm in here!" A young woman called out as they passed through the dining area. They entered the next room, and found that a teenage girl had been handcuffed to the kitchen stove. Her wrists were raw and bloody from the friction of rubbing against the handcuffs too much, and she had a bloody lip and was heavily bruise.

"Hey, hey." Sam said, putting his gun away, as he knelt down in front of her, trying to shush her in case she might freak out and scream when she spotted their guns. He pulled out his lock-picking tools so he could free the poor girl.

"It's okay. We're here, we got you." Chris said reassuringly, lowering her gun. She wasn't putting it away until she was sure nothing dangerous was in the house with them.

"You have to help me, she's a lunatic." The girl pleaded anxiously.

"What happened?" Dean asked.

"My step mom—she just freaked out, screamed at me, beat me. Chained me up." She said, sobbing.

"Where is she now?" Chris asked.

"I don't know." The girl choked, terrified. She didn't know why he stepmother suddenly changed into a monster, but she knew she didn't want to stick around to find out. Dean started glancing around, wondering if the stepmother was still in the house. He looked through the kitchen door and spotted a little dark-haired girl peeking out at them from behind a doorframe. Julie had been right. Whatever or whoever this little girl was, she was a beautiful child. She was wearing a fancy white dress and a scarlet ribbon in her hair.

"Sam. Chris." Dean said calmly to get their attention without startling the girl. They both looked up and immediately saw the little girl too. The little girl didn't seem to like having them stare at her, because she turned away and disappeared from there view from the kitchen.

"Stay here and cover them." Dean told Chris. Then he carefully followed after the little girl. He walked through the house to the entryway and stopped when he saw the little girl standing in the living room. She stared at Dean for a moment, as though she wasn't quite sure what to make of him… but then she turned again and walked further into the room until she was once again out of sight. Dean furrowed his brow slightly as he entered the living room. He looked around, but the girl was already gone. He paused when he heard one of the floorboards creak. Something was behind him now. He turned back around. The little girl had reappeared.

"Who are you?" Dean asked her, trying to sound a little friendly. Maybe she would talk if she didn't feel threatened.

But the little girl remained silent. Instead of answering, she flickered and then vanished completely. Dean, surprised, looked down at a red apple she had left behind on the rug. He picked up the apple. It was real and completely solid. He frowned slightly as he held it in his hand. He couldn't help feeling as though the little quiet ghost was playing with them.

–_–_–_–

Dean leaned against the hood of the Impala, playing with the apple, while he waited for Sam and Chris to finish up with 'Cinderella'.

"Paramedics picked up Cinderella." Chris informed him as she and Sam finally rejoined him.

"That's good." Dean said.

"Yeah." Sam agreed, relieved. That poor girl was probably going to need some therapy after this. Pretty much all of the fairy tale victims would.

"Is that from the ghost?" Chris asked, eying the red-delicious apple with suspicion. Personally, she preferred honey-crisp apples. They were sweeter and juicier.

"Yep." Dean said, tossing the apple to Sam. "So... Little girl, shiny red apple. I'm guessing that means something to you, fairy-tale boy?"

"I think it's Snow White." Sam said, catching it.

"Yeah, me too." Chris agreed.

"Snow White?" Dean asked, thinking for a moment. "Ah, I saw that movie." He said as he walked around to the driver's side of the car, signaling that it was time to go soon.

"You did?" Chris asked while she and Sam moved to their doors, surprised.

"Oh, the porn version anyway. There was this wicked Stepmother—Woo, she was _wicked_." Dean clarified, grinning. Chris rolled her eyes. She should have known.

"There _is _a wicked Stepmother." She told him. "And she tries to kill Snow White with a poison apple."

"But the apple doesn't actually kill the girl, right?" Dean asked.

"No. Puts her into a deep sleep, so deep it's almost like she's dead." Sam explained, tossing the apple back to him.

"I guess now we know why Dean's search didn't turn up anything. Our little 'Snow White' isn't completely dead, yet." Chris said as they all climbed into the Impala. There was only one place left to look… only one place where they would be most likely to find their little sleeping beauty…

–_–_–_–

**The Hospital**  
"No, sorry. We don't have any comatose little girls." The pretty blonde nurse told them.

"You sure?" Sam asked, furrowing his brow slightly in confusion.

"Totally." She said, smiling sympathetically. "It's mostly old guys. And well...Callie. She's been around since before I started here."

"Callie?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, it's so sad. And poor Dr. Garrison—he just won't give up on her."

"Is Callie one of his patients?" Chris asked.

"No. His daughter." The three of them raised their eyebrows briefly and glanced at each other. Well, it was worth a shot, so they might as well take a quick look before ruling her out, right?

–_–_–_–

**Callie's Room**

Dr. Garrison was seated at Callie's bedside with his reading glasses perched on his nose. In his hands was a blue, leather-bound book with gold engravings on the cover for decoration. It was titled 'The Complete Works and Tales of The Brothers Grimm'.

"Ah, here we are." The good doctor said when he found his place again in the story. "'Just press the latch,' called out the Grandmother. 'I'm too weak to get up.'"

**—~—**

An elderly woman with bottle-red hair was hurrying through the local supermarket's parking lot to her car so that she could quickly relieve herself of the heavy load of grocery bags she was carrying.

_The Wolf pressed the latch, and the door opened._

Her van beeped when she pressed the button on her remote key, and the door opened automatically for her.

_He stepped inside, went straight to the Grandmother, and ate her up._

One of the brown paper bags started to fall on her, but then a tall, dark man rushed over and caught the falling bag for her.

"Oh! Thank you so much." The woman said, pleasantly surprised. She smiled at the helpful stranger when he put the bag in the backseat for her, and he returned her smile when he straightened back up. She didn't see him cautiously glanced around while she leaned into the van to put the other bag in too.

Suddenly, the good Samaritan shoved the frightened old woman in the van, letting out a vicious growl as he attacked her, hitting and punching her wildly—like feral beast. In her fear and confusion, she caught a brief flash of the Wile E. Coyote tattoo he had on his arm. Both the wolf and grandmother were unaware they had an audience to this terrible and violent act.

For the little girl in white was observing them from a distance. She watched silently as the wolf deliver one last, final blow, and then he moved into the driver's seat and drove out of the parking lot. No one else had noticed a thing, save for little Snow White.

**—~—**

–_–_–_–

**Back at the Hospital…**

The three hunters soon arrived at Callie Garrison's room, but they stop outside the doorway when they saw that the doctor was already there. He was reading aloud to the comatose girl lying in the hospital bed, Callie, appeared to already be in her late teens, but she had beautiful dark, raven hair and rosy lips, just like the ghostly little girl they had seen. They watched as Dr. Garrison continued to read to Callie.

"...and the Huntsman stepped inside, and in the bed lay the Wolf. So, the Huntsman took a pair of scissors and cut open the Wolf's belly." He read, changing his voice to suit the mood of the scene he was reading, they way most adults would if they were in the habit of reading bedtime stories to small children.

Sam, Dean, and Chris glanced at each other. There was no way this was just a coincidence. That small amount of movement seemed to catch Dr. Garrison's attention out the corner of his eye, because he noticed them then. He put down the book and patted his unconscious daughter's hand as he got up and walked over to the three of them. He cleared his throat before addressing them.

"Detectives. Can I help you?" He asked.

"We just...heard that Callie is your daughter." Dean told him.

"And we wanted to say how very sorry we are." Sam added, not wanting to seem insensitive. However, when Chris glanced at Dean, she noticed his eyes were a little moist. Dean might come off as insensitive most of the time, but she could tell the doctor had his sympathies. He had hers, too. She could relate in a way… she knew what it was like to have to watch someone you love in such a hopeless situation, when it seemed like no matter how hard you tired, nothing could save them… It was painful, that helpless feeling. She closed her eyes and took a breath. But she wasn't giving up yet. Dean's situation was different from Callie's. There was still time to save him.

"Well, uh. Thank you." Dr. Garrison said, nodding. "If you'll excuse me." He brushed past them and started walking down the corridor.

"Oh, heading this way? We'll walk with you." Dean said pleasantly, and the three of them followed after the doctor, not wanting to pass up an opportunity to gather more info that could help them solve the case. "How long's Callie been like that?" He asked.

"We don't mean to intrude." Sam spoke up when it looked like Dr. Garrison was about to tell Dean it was none of his business. "We can't possibly understand how hard it must be for you seeing her like this." He added sympathetically.

"Yeah, it's not easy." Dr. Garrison admitted, exhaling, before taking a deep breath. "She's, uh, been here since she was eight years old."

"That's when she was poisoned?" Chris asked.

"Yes. Swallowed bleach. Never figured out how she got her hands on the bottle." The doctor continued to explain. "My wife found her, uh, brought her to the ER here, and I was on call."

"You're wife was, uh—was that Callie's stepmother?" Dean asked. Dr. Garrison stopped walking and stared at Dean.

"Actually, yes." He replied, eyeing Dean a little suspiciously. "How'd you know that?" Did they run some kind of background check on him?

"Lucky guess." Dean said, shrugging, as he tried to play it off by acting casual, though it didn't stop Chris and Sam from giving him a look. Did he really have to be so obvious about it?

"Well, Julie was the only mother that uh, Callie ever knew." Dr. Garrison said, deciding to let it go. "My wife passed away last year and uh, it's just my daughter and me now. She's all I got left." He said, pausing for a moment. It had been a while since he had talked about this to anyone, and he couldn't help but get a little choked up about it. "Uhm, excuse me I gotta get back to work." He said, excusing himself.

"Yeah." Dean replied as they watched him go. It looked like the doctor was done talking for now. No sense in pushing the poor guy.

The three hunters shared another look.

"Well, you're right. It's Snow White _in spades_." Dean conceded while they started making their way back out of the hospital.

"Yep. Step-mom poisons the girl, puts her into a deep sleep. What's the motive you think?" Sam asked.

"Could be like Mischa Barton." Dean suggested.

"Oh, yeah—You mean like in _Sixth Sense_, right?" She asked, lighting up with realization. That would kind of fit in with the original storyline too, since the evil queen basically tried to kill Snow White out of jealously because she got more attention. "Could be."

"What?" Sam asked, not getting the reference.

"Hey, you know fairy tales—I know movies." Dean told him. "She played the pasty ghost. You know the, uh—remember the mom had that thing—you know, where you keep the kid sick so you get all the attention?"

"I know it starts with an 'M', but I just can't seem to… Ooh, it's on the tip of my tongue…" Chris said, trying really hard to remember the medical name. She was sure she had heard it before.

"Oh yeah, yeah, yeah—uh, Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy." Sam said, finally seeing where they were going with this. "Huh, could be." He agreed.

"So, say, all these years Callie's been suffering silently, because nobody knows the truth about what mommy dearest did?" Dean proposed.

"And after all this time her spirit just gets angrier and angrier, until it finally just starts lashing out." Sam added, while Chris nodded in agreement.

"_Right._ Meanwhile, she has to listen to dear old dad tell her these deranged stories about a rabid wolf or a cannibalistic old lady—it's enough to drive anybody nuts." She exclaimed. "I mean, in a way, some of those stories _encourage_ violence by justifying dishing out super harsh and vicious punishments to certain characters—Take the _real_ Snow White, for instance. After the prince saves her, the 'innocent and pure' princess punishes her wicked stepmother by forcing her to wear burning, red-hot iron shoes and made her dance in them until she died of shock from the pain."

"Damn." Dean said. That was vicious.

"Okay, but how are we gonna stop her, I mean Callie's stuck here, and her father's keeping her body alive." Sam pointed out.

"It does make it a bit hard to burn the bones." Dean said, smiling wryly.

"You think?" Sam replied smartly.

"Just a bit." Chris said, smiling wryly as she shrugged. At least now they knew who the culprit was.

"_Coming in!" _An EMT yelled as the emergency doors flew open in front of them, and they watched as a team of EMTs brought in the old woman from the supermarket on a stretcher.

"Okay, what's her status?" One of the E.R. doctors asked as he hurried over to them.

"Seventy-two year old female, sustained multiple lacerations and puncture wounds." The second EMT told him as they wheeled her into the E.R. "BP is eighty over forty and falling. Sinus tachycardia."

"Is that a… _bite_?" The doctor asked when he saw a particularly nasty wound on the old woman's neck. It was like something had taken a chunk out of her.

"Looks like she was mauled by a mad dog, or maybe a wolf?" The EMT said.

"What was the last story Dr. Garrison was reading Callie?" Dean asked the others. Sam and Chris glanced at each other.

"_Little Red Riding Hood." _She replied.


End file.
